


Wolf in the Lion's Den

by BellatrixLives



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 66,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixLives/pseuds/BellatrixLives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of Sansa and Tyrion's growing relationship after they have married. How will their relationship bud among the troubles that surround them? Based solely on the show, I have not read the books. *Show Spoilers* Picks up during S3E8 Second Sons, right after they return to their room from the wedding feast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleepless Night

__

_**One** _

~Sansa~

"My lord father has ordered me to consummate this marriage," Tyrion says, looking anywhere but at her.

Sansa takes a deep breath, approaches the table, and pours herself a glass of wine with a surprisingly steady hand. She downs the vile drink in two gulps, a desperate attempt to calm her nerves.

_You can do this… you must do this,_  she orders herself.  _You've played your part far too well to abandon it now. If you turn away a Lannister your head will be on a spike before you can say 'traitor.'_

Trying to appear much more sure of herself than she actually feels, Sansa moves to stand next to the bed.

_Our bed… my marriage bed._

With graceful fingers she slowly starts to remove her wedding gown, thankful for the layers, and the slight delay it gives her. She can't see Tyrion standing behind her, but she can almost feel his eyes touching her. The heat from his gaze is nearly tangible.

She drops her dress on the floor, and nervously starts to slide the strap of her slip from her shoulder.

"Stop," Tyrion commands.

Her hand stills and she glances at him over her shoulder.

_Does he want to undress me? I just want to be done with this. Please don't drag it out._

"I can't. I could," he clarifies, "I won't."

"But your father..."

"My father wants someone to get fucked, I know where he can start."

Sansa bites her lip, unsure what to say.

"I won't share your bed. Not until you want me to," he says.

"And what if I never want you to?" she asks.

Tyrion smirks without humor and lifts his cup of wine to her.

"And so my watch begins."

After downing his drink Tyrion collapses on the chaise lounge, and immediately passes out.

Sansa, once she is sure he is truly sleeping, lets out a huge sigh. All day she has dreaded this moment, and yet her she is, still a virgin while her husband sleeps off his overindulgence in wine.

She starts extinguishing the candles in the room until only one remains. Sansa is just about to put it out and climb into bed, when she glances at Tyrion, sleeping uncomfortably on the lounge. Before she realizes what she is doing, Sansa is by his side, taking the small throw blanket from the lounge and covering him with it.

She studies his sleeping face, wondering if she can decipher his motives, but quickly gives up and retreats to bed.

Darkness envelops her as she puts out the final candle, but sleep does not find her easily.

Her mind is too full to rest.

Sansa can't stop thinking of her family. There is an ache in her belly as she pictures them: Robb, Jon, Bran, Rikon, her mother, even Arya. She didn't part on the best terms with her sister, but Sansa thinks of Arya often, wondering what happened to her, and if she is still alive.

Before bed each night, Sansa pictures herself arriving home, with all of her family waiting to greet her. She thinks of Winterfell, of the smell of the snow, and the musty scent of wet stone that fills the family home. She tries to imagine her skin prickling from the cold, and the wind whipping her hair as she rides through the gates to meet her loved ones.

Tonight her normal ponderings over her family are interrupted by the drunken snores of her new husband, and it only takes that small, no pun intended, reminder to bring her back to King's Landing and her current predicament.

It has been a long time since Sansa has actually wanted to be a member of the Lannister family, but here she is. Married to the imp. She reluctantly admits it could be worse.

_I could be married to Joffrey._

Sansa shudders at the thought.

_At least Tyrion has always been kind to me. He stopped the knights from beating me, I heard he sent someone to find me when the mob attacked us after the Princess was sent off, and he promised he would never hurt me. Now, tonight, he disobeyed Lord Tywin's orders and didn't make me consummate our marriage._

She tosses in bed, not out of physical discomfort, but from the uncomfortable thoughts she is having.

_A Lannister always has motives. They are never kind for no reason. Don't let your guard down because he didn't take you to bed after having a barrel of wine. Who knows if he'll even remember his promise in the morning?_

The sun is almost rising by the time Sansa finally drifts off.

After what seems like far too little sleep, Sansa's handmaiden, Shae, bursts into the room waking her up. Shae quickly helps Sansa into her dressing gown, and leads her to the table for breakfast.

Sansa sees Shae glaring at Tyrion's sleeping form before collecting the bed sheets, and feels touched by the woman's concern for her. She is lucky to have someone like her in King's Landing.

Tyrion seems to be having a harder time getting up than she, and Sansa suspects his head is pounding from all of the wine. He is finally sitting up straight when Shae returns with a set of clean sheets.

One glance her way and he is on his feet, heading for the door.

"If you'll excuse me, my Lady, I have urgent… Master of Coin business to attend to. I will return later, but don't feel the need to wait around for me."

"Of course, my Lord," Sansa says, bowing her head.

He's already out the door by the time she looks back up.

_Maybe Shae really_ is _as intimidating as she thinks she is._

"Are you alright?" Shae asks, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine. Really," she assures the woman.

"Did he…?"

Sansa shakes her head, and Shae relaxes.

"You can't tell anyone," Sansa explains.

"Of course I won't. It is no one's business. Now, eat your breakfast. Lady Margaery would like you to meet her in the garden when you have finished."

Sansa obliges, eager to meet Margaery. Despite her initial cautiousness towards the Tyrell woman, Sansa is growing to like her quite a bit. While she likes having Shea to confide in, Lady Margaery is a highborn girl like herself. Some things Shae just doesn't understand.

When Sansa finishes eating, Shae helps her dress and escorts her to the palace garden. Lady Margaery is pruning a rose-bush, a habit she brought with her from High Garden.

"Good morning, my Lady," Sansa greets her.

"How many times must I tell you to call me Margaery?"

"Sorry. Soon it will be 'your Grace' though, won't it?"

"At which point we will be family, and I will still insist you call me by name. Would you walk with me?"

"I would love to. Shae, you can attend your other duties. I will be fine in Lady Margaery's company," Sansa tells the handmaiden.

Shae seems reluctant, she's untrustworthy of everyone from court, but eventually nods and heads back into the castle.

Margaery takes Sansa's arm in hers and leads her down one of the aisles of flowers that has nobody else in it.

"So, you must give me details! I was thinking of you last night, after that horrible scene Joffrey created about the bedding ceremony. I thought it was very sweet the way Tyrion came to your defense," Margaery says, smiling.

"Came to my defense? He… was just drunk. Wasn't he?"

"Did he seem more coherent once you retired to your chambers?"

"I guess he may have. Do you really think he did that just to draw attention away from me?" Sansa asks.

Margaery laughs.

"I think that much was obvious to everyone  _but_  you. So, tell me, what happened last night? Is he as… experienced… as they say?"

Sansa blushes.

"Oh, sweet girl, I don't mean to cause you discomfort. I'm sorry if I am making you uncomfortable. I suppose you don't talk about such things in the North? We are very open in High Garden," Margaery explains. "You can trust me. I haven't repeated anything you've told me so far."

"Well," Sansa starts, nervously, "we didn't actually do  _anything_."

"He really  _was_  drunk then?"

"Yes, and no. He slept like a drunken man, that is certain, but that isn't why we didn't…  _you know._  He told me Lord Tywin ordered he consummate our marriage, but when I started to disrobe he stopped me. He said he wouldn't do it. He… told me he wouldn't share my bed until I want him to. And then he went to sleep on the lounge."

Margaery's eyebrows practically disappear into her hair in her disbelief.

"That is… certainly something I've never heard before."

"Why would he do that?" Sansa questions, confusion clouding her delicate features. "Do you think he doesn't… desire me?"

"Trust me, darling, I doubt there is a man in the seven kingdoms who has seen you and not desired you. Perhaps Lord Tyrion is just trying to make the best of the situation. You two are stuck together. Maybe he just wants to show you he respects you, and earn your respect in return."

"Maybe."

The two women continue walking through the garden, both lost in their own thoughts. Sansa has the feeling Margaery wants to ask her more questions, but none come. She finds herself again wondering whether Tyrion will remember his drunken vow to stay out of her bed until asked.

"Ah, there you are. Lady Tyrell, Lady Lannister, I've been looking for you."

Sansa's blood runs cold as the new voice behind them speaks. Margaery's grip on her arm tightens, and she pulls Sansa around with her to great the king.

"Your Grace," Margaery purrs, as she dips into a curtsy.

"Your Grace," Sansa stumbles a moment too late.

"How can we help you on this beautiful day?" Margaery asks.

Joffrey's cold eyes study Sansa intensely, looking her up and down, leaving her feeling exposed.

_Can he tell? Does he know I'm still a virgin?"_

"I was hoping to speak with my aunt, Lady  _Lannister_ , privately," he says smugly, caressing the word 'Lannister' and reveling in the discomfort its use gives Sansa.

Margaery squeezes Sansa's arm briefly, as if to offer her strength.

"Of course, your Grace. Perhaps when you finish with Lady Sansa, you could escort me through the maze? I have been eager to inspect it, but nervous of getting lost."

"Yes, my Lady, that would be splendid. On fine days like these one can often find servants lazing about in the maze. Maybe we can find a few to be flogged."

Margaery gives him a tight smile, nods and departs, leaving Sansa alone with her worst nightmare.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I started this fic a while back and it has been posted on ff.net from the beginning, but I am starting to transition my work to Archive of our own.  The first 17 chapters will be added immediately, and the rest will follow about 1 chapter a week (sometimes more).  All reviews are very much appreciated, and even if I don't reply to every one I do read them!  Thank you, hope you enjoy my story!

Cover Art courtesy of the wonderful [essentialasair](http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Lady Lannister

_**Two** _

~Sansa~

Joffrey leads Sansa away from Lady Margaery, and further into the twisting garden. She trails just a step or two behind him, wanting both the distance, and not to anger him by having the audacity to walk directly beside him. The further they travel from the courtyard, the more Sansa's nerves flutter. When he finally starts speaking to her, she almost trips.

"So, you've been made a woman now," he says, turning to face her, an evil smirk playing across his lips.

Sansa doesn't know how to respond to that, so she casts her eyes downwards.

"A little late for modesty, don't you think?" he laughs cruelly.

"Forgive me, your Grace. I'm not sure what you wish me to say. I have been taught that activities between a man and his wife are a private business. In the North—"

"Does this look like the bloody North?"

Joffrey takes an angry step forward, and Sansa tries not to cringe, but fails. Her fear seems to please him.

"No, your Grace, of course not," she whispers.

Joffrey's hand snakes out and he grasps her chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face to look at him.

"Your eyes are red. From tiredness, crying, or both?" he asks.

"Tired, your Grace."

"I bet you are. My imp of an uncle is known for his wild antics with whores, I bet he kept you up late, playing out his perversions. Is that it? Did he use you like a whore?"

Sansa closes her eyes and tries to turn her head away. Joffrey reads this as shame, laughs, and releases his hold on her chin.

"That's all traitors are good for. You're lucky you are beautiful. If not your head would already be next to your fathers. Perhaps after I've finally tried you out. Don't think your marriage makes you safe."

Joffrey puts his hand on her arm, slowly trailing his fingers up and down. Her skin is crawling from his touch.

"You may be a Lannister by law, but you'll never  _truly_  be one," he tells her snidely.

"You're right, your Grace. You would know best, of course, seeing as you yourself are  _much_  more a Lannister than most," she quips, unable to stop herself.

His fingers stop trailing, and instead bite into her flesh.

"There is another benefit to you marrying my uncle… You are no longer  _my_  Lady."

Joffrey's other hand flies up and he strikes her across the face. Sansa gasps from the pain, but fights back tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He takes another step closer to her and she backs up until she is pressing into the rose bushes.

"I'm going to enjoy taking you," he growls into her ear.

"My Lady? Are you back here?"

Shae appears from around the corner, and stops in her tracks, taking in the scene before her.

"Pardon, your Grace," she says stiffly, offering a curtsy, "but Lord Tyrion has sent me to fetch Lady Sansa."

"Fine," he snaps, "go. I have my Lady Margaery to attend anyway."

Joffrey steps back from Sansa, and heads away past Shae.

"Sleep well tonight, Lady Sansa," he calls over his shoulder as he walks away.

When he is out of sight, Shae hurries to Sansa's side.

"Are you alright, my Lady?"

"I—yes. Thank you, Shae."

"Did he hurt you? What happened to your cheek?"

"It's nothing, really. Lord Tyrion wants to see me?" Sansa asks.

"No, I was lying. I heard one of the guards say the king had went to find you, and when I returned to the courtyard Lady Margaery said you were alone with him. I just wanted him to go away."

"Thank you."

"Come, my Lady. Let's go your chambers and put a cloth on your cheek. Perhaps it will stop the swelling."

~Tyrion~

Tyrion spent most of his day with Bronn walking around the castle, hiding from his new bride and her handmaiden. It's not that he doesn't like the women; it's more that he just doesn't like them together. It was only when Shae came bursting into his chambers this morning that he realized how difficult things were going to be with his girlfriend attending his wife. It doesn't help that he is feeling very confused about his relationship with Shae.

"What's to be confused about?" Bronn asks, when Tyrion tells him as much. "You make love to yer wife, and you fuck yer whore."

"I told you, I will not be making love to my wife until she wants me to."

"You're insane you are. That Stark girl is a fine piece."

"First of all, it is now that  _Lannister_  girl, and second of all, that  _is_ my wife you're talking about."

"Fine, fine. So you won't touch your wife. It's still easy, that means you doubly fuck your whore."

"That doesn't even make sense. Doubly fuck?"

"I'll tell 'ya what don't make no sense, having Lady Sansa in your bed and not doing the deed. I don't reckon you forgot how?"

"I know  _how_ , but I promised I wouldn't unless she wants to," Tyrion repeats for what feels like the twelfth time.

"That'll be a long wait. Least you got Shae."

"About that… Shae isn't really talking to me at the moment."

"I didn't know you paid her to talk."

Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"Alright, alright… what are 'ya gonna to do to fix it?"

"I don't know. These women will be the death of me. I tried thinking of what to say to Shae, but every time I come close to what might be the right words I start feeling… guilty," Tyrion admits.

"Why guilty?"

"I made a vow to Sansa to be faithful, and that poor girl has had enough broken vows in her lifetime."

Bronn starts laughing, but stops after Tyrion gives him a reprimanding look.

"Wait… are you being serious?" Bronn asks.

"Yes, I am being serious."

"Aye… you got it bad," Bronn says, whistling low. "You have feelings for your wife."

"No! It's just— I just… I see her, so sad and broken, and I just want to protect her."

"You got it really bad."

"Oh, shut up."

Tyrion sighs, running his fingers through his hair. His stomach begins to growl, and a look out the nearest window signals him it is time for dinner.

"I don't particularly wish to see any of my family after last nights display at my wedding feast, so I think I'll head back to have dinner in my chambers."

"That was a beautiful performance, by the way," Bronn smiles.

"Performance? Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Threatening the king on behalf of your Lady? 'Ya, you got it bad."

Bronn escorts Tyrion back to his room, and, after seeing both Sansa and Shae inside, gives Tyrion a knowing wink. The sell-sword is still laughing as he rounds the corner.

_Insufferable man_ , Tyrion thinks.  _I don't know why I pay him so much._

Sansa is sitting on the far side of the room, a needlepoint project in her lap. She looks up when Tyrion enters, but quickly turns her eyes away.

_Am I that hideous to her?_

"Good evening, Sansa."

"Good evening."

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asks, avoiding Shae's eyes on him.

"No, my Lord, not yet."

"It's Tyrion, Sansa, no need to call me 'my Lord,'" he corrects her. "Would you like to dine with me? I was thinking to take dinner here, away from the prying eyes of court."

"That would be much appreciated… Tyrion. I don't wish to be in the public eye at the moment," Sansa tells him. "Shae, would you please bring Lord Tyrion and myself dinner?"

Tyrion grimaces.

"Of course, my Lady," Shae answers through gritted teeth.

On her way out, Shae gives Tyrion the dirtiest look she can manage.

_This is going to be much harder than I thought._

Sansa slowly puts away her needlepoint and approaches the small dining table, her discomfort evident in every step. Tyrion gives her a small bow, and pulls her chair out for her.

"Thank you," she whispers, taking her seat.

He struggles to push the chair back in, but with a little, subtle, help from her he finally manages.

Tyrion takes a seat next to her, and awkward silence descends upon them.

_Gods be merciful and strike me down._

Sansa is looking anywhere but at him, and for once he has no idea what to say. No witty quip, or clever anecdote. There is nothing he knows to say that can ease the tension between them.

_How do you ease the discomfort of a girl forced to marry someone who disgusts her, not only in appearance, but also in name?_

After what seems like an eternity, Shae returns with their dinner and begins serving them.

"How was your day?" Tyrion asks, spearing a potato.

"It was good, my— Tyrion. Fairly uneventful. How was yours?"

When she turns to ask him, the candlelight falls on her face, highlighting a bright red welt. Without pausing to think about it, Tyrion leans across the table and gently brushes the blemish with his finger.

Shae, who is standing on his other side, refilling his glass  _accidentally_  knocks it over and spills wine into his lap.

He jumps back in his seat, the cool liquid shocking him.

"Shae!" Sansa reprimands.

"Oops, sorry, my Lord," Shae says dryly.

"Quite alright," Tyrion answers, using his napkin to sop up the mess.

"Shae, that will be enough for now. You can return for the dishes later," Sansa tells her.

"As you wish, my Lady."

Shae marches across the room and slams the door on her way out.

"Please forgive her," Sansa begs, "as I mentioned before she isn't from here."

"Nothing to forgive. I'm sure it was an accident."

_Not likely._

"May I ask what happened to your cheek?" Tyrion questions, placing his ruined napkin on the table. "It was fine yesterday."

"Oh, really it's nothing," Sansa says, turning away.

"Sansa," he presses, reaching out and taking her hand. "I once promised you I would never hurt you, but beyond that, I also wish to protect you. If someone has hurt you, please tell me."

Sansa starts chewing her bottom lip, and Tyrion feels his pulse quicken.

_You_ do _have it bad._

"Please," he urges, squeezing her hand.

"It was Joffrey, but my own fault. I made a smart remark while walking in the garden with him, and he struck me."

Anger courses through him. Tyrion can practically see the scene playing out in front of his eyes. Poor Sansa thinking she might finally be free of the king, the only benefit of her marriage, but no, here Joffrey comes stalking her among the roses and other blooms.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I'll have a word with him," Tyrion promises.

"No! Please, don't. I don't want him to think I complained. Besides, don't you think you are in enough trouble with the king after last night?"

"Are you worried about me?" he asks, surprised, and maybe just a tiny bit hopeful.

"It is my duty to worry about my husband," Sansa replies stiffly.

_Of course it is._

Tyrion gives her a small nod, and they finish the rest of their meal in silence. After Shae returns to, very loudly, collect the dishes, Sansa announces she is going to retire for the evening.

She goes behind the filigree divider and begins to change into her nightclothes. Try as he might, Tyrion can't help but peek every so often. The glimpses of milky white flesh both excite and shame him.

_Lecherous fool… she is barely more than a child._

Tyrion groans inwardly and pours himself another glass of wine. Then, remembering her injury he starts rummaging through his belongings. He hasn't unpacked everything yet, so it takes him a moment to find what he is looking for.

"Sansa?" he calls, turning to find her. "I have some—"

His voice dies in his throat when he sees her. Her hair is unbound and hanging in long waves, the shimmering candles making the color dance like flames. Tonight instead of the slip from under her gown, she wears a clinging nightgown of the softest blue.

"Yes?" she asks.

Tyrion clears his throat.

"I have some ointment left from my battle injury. I thought it might help ease the sting of your cheek."

He gestures for her to take a seat on the chaise, and hops up beside her.

"Let me," he offers.

She glances at him warily, but nods her approval.

While trying desperately to control his breathing, Tyrion begins gently applying the salve to her beautiful high cheekbone. Her skin is just as soft as he has imagined, and he finds himself letting his fingers linger just a tad longer than necessary. Letting go of restraint, he brushes his knuckle along her jaw line until just the tip of his thumb grazes the corner of her mouth.

He pulls his hand back as if shocked, and clears his throat again.

"That should do it."

"Thank you," Sansa tells him, giving him an unreadable look.

"I'll sleep here again tonight," he tells her, gesturing the chaise.

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

"Goodnight, Sansa," he answers quietly as he watches her withdraw to their marriage bed.


	3. The Ladies of Highgarden

_**Three** _

~Sansa~

Sansa wakes the next morning to the faint rustling sounds of her laundry being gathered. She turns over to make a smart remark to Shae about finally learning to be quiet, and is surprised to find a young woman she's never seen before.

"Who are you?" Sansa asks, sitting up in bed.

"I'm Pippa, my Lady, I'm your new handmaiden," the girl tells her.

Pippa can't be much older than Sansa, perhaps even a little younger. She has a very angular face, and brown hair pulled back in a braided bun.

"Where's Shae? She's my handmaiden."

"Shae is attending other duties this morning, my Lady. Not to worry, she is still your handmaiden as well, but a Lady of the Lannister household should have more than one maiden to assist her. Lord Tywin hired me as a welcome to the household gift," Pippa explains.

This news puts Sansa on edge, and she has the immediate feeling that this woman is, in all actuality, Lord Tywin's spy.

What he expects to find is beyond me.

"I didn't mean to wake you. Forgive me, my Lady," Pippa begs. "I know you aren't feeling well."

"I'm feeling fine," Sansa says, confused.

"Oh. I… just assumed you must be… unwell."

Sansa catches Pippa glance at Tyrion, asleep on the chaise. And realization hits her.

_Lord Tywin wants to know how hard we are working on producing an heir._

"I—I mean I don't feel ill now. I'm feeling much better this morning than I was yesterday evening," Sansa fumbles. "I'm not much of a wine drinker, you see, and as I'm sure you've heard, my husband is quite talented in that area. I made a foolish wager that I could keep up with him and, needless to say, I lost."

"It's really none of my business, my Lady," Pippa says, returning to collecting laundry, but Sansa sees the suspicion dim in the woman's eyes.

_We're going to have to figure this out, or the servants will start to talk, and who knows who owns their eyes and ears._

Tyrion is still snoring loudly when Sansa sits down for breakfast. She waivers back and forth over whether she should let him sleep or wake him to eat. She finally decides it would be rude to leave him asleep on the couch while Pippa flits around the room, studying the married couple out of the corner of her eye.

Feeling the maid's eyes on her as she approaches the chaise, Sansa tries to keep her voice from sounding too formal.

"Tyrion…dear," she says softly, kneeling beside him. "It's time for breakfast."

Tyrion mumbles a little, and shifts, but does not wake.

Forcing herself to play the dutiful wife, Sansa reaches out and pushes the hair from his forehead.

"Tyrion?" she repeats, twirling the soft locks gently between her fingers.

A small smile spreads across his face as his eyes flutter open.

"Well, good morning, wife."

"Breakfast is here."

Something on her face must signal him, because Tyrion starts looking around the room for the cause of her discomfort. His eyes narrow a bit when they land on Pippa, and he sits up.

"I trust you are well this morning?" Tyrion asks, taking Sansa's hand and leading her to the table.

"Much better than last night," she answers, thankful for his choice of greeting. "I have learned my lesson indeed. You truly are the superior wine drinker."

"I did warn you," he beams, playing along without question.

Over breakfast Tyrion tells her of the time he once beat the Mountain in a drinking contest, filling the silence as Pippa goes about her work changing bed linens and emptying the chamber pot. Although, she's not entirely sure he's telling the truth, Sansa finds herself enjoying Tyrion's tale and on several occasions actually breaking into laughter. It feels nice after so much sadness.

Finally, Pippa bids them good day after Sansa assures the girl she can dress herself for the day.

"Whom does she work for?" Tyrion asks after the door closes behind her.

"She said your father sent her because a woman of the Lannister house needs multiple handmaidens. Is she a spy?"

"Most likely. She seemed very interested in not appearing interested in our interactions. Be careful around her."

"I'm always careful," Sansa replies without thinking.

Tyrion sighs sadly.

"I suppose you've had to be, haven't you?" he asks.

She doesn't answer.

"What are your plans for the day?"

"I'm having tea with Lady Olenna and the other Ladies from Highgarden here shortly."

"That should be… thrilling, I'm sure."

Sansa can't help but smirk.

"Lady Olenna can be a very interesting woman," she says.

"Indeed."

When they finish, Sansa excuses herself to dress, and Tyrion does the same. He's much faster than she is. She's just pulling her nightgown off when he bids her farewell.

"I'm off to do my duty," he tells her. "Would you like to have dinner in our chambers again this evening? We won't be able to avoid the family forever, but I suppose they'll forgive us a few days to indulge in our newlywed bliss."

"That would be nice," she answers.

"Excellent. Until then, my Lady."

"Good—" Sansa turns towards his voice, intending to say goodbye, but the words stick in her throat.

Tyrion, halfway out the door, looks over when she starts to talk. He has a peculiar expression on his face, and Sansa realizes that her changing divider does not really offer much in the way of privacy during the day.

"Oh," she gasps, wrapping her nightgown around herself.

Tyrion looks away guiltily, gives a swift nod and hurries out the door.

Sansa takes her time dressing, unable to stop thinking of the look on his face. She doesn't understand what, or why, but when she pictures his expression she gets this strange feeling in her stomach; a warm, tingling knot that causes her face to flush. It's the same feeling she got last night when Tyrion caressed her cheek while putting on the healing salve. Not knowing what to make of it, and feeling unexplainably embarrassed by it, Sansa pushes the memories and feeling away, and heads out to meet Lady Olenna for tea.

Sansa has come to truly enjoy the company of the Highgarden women, especially Lady Olenna. The woman is so confident and brazen, that Sansa can't help but admire her.

Since she's been at court, Sansa's contentment has fluctuated constantly, plummeting greatly the day she watched her father beheaded. Every day since then has been a painful tightrope act. She must think through every syllable that comes from her mouth because each one could be the one gives her away. That gives away she doesn't believe her father was a traitor, that she wishes her brother would win the war and save her, that she wishes for nothing more than to see Joffrey and the horrid Queen's heads ablaze in wildfire.

Spending every waking moment monitoring not only her words, but also her posture, and movements has been the most exhausting time Sansa has ever experienced. But, when she's with the Highgarden women, when she is with Lady Olenna, she can picture what it would be like to have the freedom to speak her mind. It may not be much, but being around a woman who ignores boundaries, completely without consequence, has had a liberating effect on Sansa.

"How Tywin thinks Cersei will manage to squeeze out another babe before her change is upon her is beyond me," Olenna complains to the small group of women around the table.

"Grandmother," Margaery chides, "you shouldn't speak of the Queen that way."

"Queen Regent. You'll be the Queen soon enough."

Sansa smiles into her teacup. She particularly enjoys when Lady Olenna gets into one of her 'anti-Cersei' tirades. She has plenty she would love to add on to the subject herself, but Sansa remains the quiet, polite listener, holding her tongue.

"Speaking of squeezing children out, are any of you newlyweds with child yet?" Olenna asks.

Aside from Olenna, Sansa, and Margaery there are four other woman with them for tea. Two of who recently wed into the court by marrying a pair of Lords.

Hazel and Naomi, the two newlywed women start giggling.

"I'm not, but I'm sure it won't be long," Hazel says, winking.

"I am not holding my breath," Naomi beams, "but I am a week past my usual cycle!"

The women around the table start to coo, and offer their good luck wishes. Sansa just sips on her tea, and tries to remain as small as possible.

"I know it is far too soon after your wedding to know if you are with child, Lady Lannister," Olenna starts, forcing all eyes on Sansa, "but I bet you are eager to hear the pitter patter of little feet."

"I—I—" Sansa tries, but becomes distracted by the stifled laughter coming from her left.

Hazel seems to be having a hard time containing her glee. She also seems to be oblivious to the eyes around the table being drawn to her.

"Lady Kells, whatever is it that has you in such a state?" Olenna asks.

Hazel sobers up immediately when she sees all attention on her.

"Beg pardon, my Lady, I don't know what came over me."

Margaery says something, drawing the attention of Olenna away from Hazel, and thankfully away from the topic of Sansa's womb.

"What was that?" Naomi asks Hazel quietly.

Sansa turns her gaze towards Lady Olenna, pretending to listen to what she's saying, as Hazel leans over to whisper in Naomi's ear.

_You call that whispering?_

"I just couldn't help myself when Lady Tyrell asked Lady Lannister about the patter of 'little feet.' Like she doesn't already get that from her husband! I wonder if he wakes up crying in the night for a breast as his child will?"

Sansa is not the only one to overhear this if the gasps from around her are any indicator. Her cheeks burn red in what she thinks is embarrassment; it only takes a moment to realize that it is actually anger burning through her instead.

Sansa jumps to her feet and shoots a fierce glare at Hazel.

"Excuse me, Lady Kells? Do you mind repeating that? I'm sure I must have misheard you," Sansa growls.

"I—I'm sorry, my Lady. I meant no disrespect."

"And yet that is all I heard. You make fun of my husband's stature, and yet it was he who was on the frontlines of the battle of Blackwater Bay while your lord husband cowered inside the church. If you'll excuse me, ladies," Sansa says, addressing the rest of the shocked women, "I think I need some air."

She turns on heel, just catching a look of what can only be described as pride on Lady Olenna's face, and marches towards exit.

With the intention of seeking out Shae for a session of venting, Sansa heads towards the servant's chambers. She can't believe the nerve of that woman, to sit right there next to Sansa and openly mock Tyrion.

Walking down a long corridor, Sansa can hear voices from just around the corner. She has every intention of continuing on her journey, when she catches a snippet of the conversation.

"—and there he was, sleeping on the lounge while Lady Sansa had the whole bed to herself."

The voice belongs to Pippa. Sansa hears them getting closer and ducks into a nearby alcove, staying out of sight.

_You are becoming a horrible little eavesdropper, she thinks, worse than Arya._

"It's not like he takes up much room," the other voice laughs.

"Anyways, I told Lord Tywin what I saw and he paid me ten golden dragons!" Pippa exclaims.

"Holy crow! Did he say anything?"

"When I was on my way out he told the Queen Regent that if he doesn't get any proof they've—well, you know… consummated, he's going to have his guards stand in and make them do it."

"That man is scary… I wouldn't put it past him," the other voice offers.

Sansa waits until they are out of earshot before leaving her hiding space. She gives up on seeking out Shae and instead decides to go back to her chambers. She needs to think things out before she talking Tyrion.

~Tyrion~

When he returns to his room for dinner with his wife, Tyrion finds Sansa pacing anxiously back and forth. She halts mid-step when she sees him.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"I need you in my bed tonight."


	4. Plotting Partners

_**Four** _

~Tyrion~

" _I need you in my bed tonight."_

Tyrion is in shock as he stares at Sansa, her eyes are huge and imploring.

"Well, this is a lot sooner than I expected," he says, closing the door behind him. "Are my dashing good looks too much to resist?"

Sansa seems momentarily confused.

"No! I mean— not that you aren't very handsome," she adds quickly, "but I meant in my bed as in  _sleeping_. Just sleeping."

Tyrion tries not to let his disappointment show.

"What has brought this on?" he asks as he makes to pour himself a glass of wine.

He can see how shaken Sansa is and, without asking, he pours her a glass as well. She takes the cup greedily, and they sit down as she starts telling him about overhearing her new handmaiden talking in the hall.

"She admitted to being a spy," she tells him, "and said she told your lord father about you sleeping on the lounge."

"What else did she say?" Tyrion questions. "Something else has you shaken, we already suspected Pippa was a spy."

"She overheard Lord Tywin telling your sister if he didn't get proof that we've… consummated, he is going to send his guards in to force us."

_That sounds like him… and the last thing I want are his guards around another of my brides._

He grimaces as the memory of his beautiful Tysha being passed around the guardhouse surfaces, and tries to rebury it.

"We'll need to come up with a plan," he sighs. "Just sleeping in the same bed won't do away with suspicion."

"I know. I have a plan," Sansa says, and begins filling him in.

He smiles and nods along, genuinely impressed. Her idea is simple, and extremely believable.

_Cersei sincerely underestimates this girl._

"What do you think?" she asks, nervously.

"It's brilliant," he says. "It is subtle enough to seem true. Very elegant."

"You really think so?"

She starts chewing her lower lip in a way he recognizes as her nervous tick, and wonders why she doubts herself so greatly.

_Perhaps it is because she's never received an un-barbed compliment from a Lannister before? Every 'kind' word from Cersei or Joffrey is more of a thinly veiled insult than anything._

"Yes, I certainly do think so. I should have had you help preparing for the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

Sansa blushes.

"You did quite well on your own with that," she says quietly.

"If you listen to the rest of court, the battle was only won thanks to my father."

"King's Landing would have been halfway burned to the ground by the time your father arrived if it hadn't been for you and your wildfire. Everyone owes you a great debt, even if they are to stubborn to admit it."

"Thank you," he says, touched by her words.

Silence falls on them, neither knowing what to say next. They sit quietly, sipping their wine, until a knock on the door signals dinner's arrival.

Shae comes in, arms laden with food.

"Shae!" Sansa exclaims. "I'm so glad to see you. I was worried about you when you weren't here this morning."

"Thank you, my Lady," Shae answers, setting the small table. "There was no need to worry. I was just being informed that you are to have two handmaidens now."

"Yes, I've found that out as well," Sansa says, stiffly.

"I will return for the dishes later, "Shae tells them before quickly retreating from the room, never once looking Tyrion's direction.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing the table.

Tonight's main course is a beautiful roast duck, which inspires Tyrion to tell Sansa about the time he was chased from an Inn by a gander of geese after inadvertently insulting the owner about the smell of the establishment.

"Apparently the smell was his wife's cooking. The next thing I know he opens the back door and shouts, 'get him!' And a dozen geese come running through the door honking and nipping at me!"

Sansa starts laughing.

"You're lying!" she accuses. "Who has attack geese?"

"I told you, it was a shabby place. It's not like he could afford an attack bear."

She snorts, and gives him a look that clearly says she thinks he's pulling her leg.

"Thank you," she says quietly, after a moment.

"What for?"

"For telling me that story. Even if I don't quite believe it," She smiles. "For not talking about court politics endlessly… or the war. For not forcing me to do my  _wifely duty_. For everything."

Tyrion isn't sure how to respond; his throat feels oddly tight. He gives her a small tight smile, and nods.

Shae returns for the dishes, not saying a word the entire time she is in the room, and closing the door loudly when she leaves.

"Do you think she's mad at me?" Sansa asks. "For having to have two maids?"

"No, of course not. I'm sure she knows it isn't your fault. She's probably had a rough day."

She looks unconvinced, but nods anyway.

"I suppose we should…" Sansa starts nervously, glancing at the bed.

"Yes, of course. I'll just change over here so you can have some privacy."

Tyrion retreats to the far side of the room and begins undressing, trying not to here the swishing fabric of his wife undressing. He still feels a bit guilty about catching a look this morning, but that guilt isn't enough to stop him from pulling the image up in his mind. He didn't see much, but he distinctly recalls the soft swell of her breasts, and the curve of her hip. The form of the woman she's grown into, so different from the girl she was when she arrived at court.

Tyrion pulls on a large tunic to sleep in, just as he hears Sansa clear her throat. He turns to find her sitting on the edge of the bed in a tan colored nightdress. The shade fabric making her porcelain skin glow even brighter.

"Do you have a side preference, my Lord?" she asks.

_She always hides behind formalities when she finds herself in new territory._

"Again, it's Tyrion, and no, Sansa, I do not. I don't take up much space. Make yourself comfortable and I'll find room to sleep."

She nods, and slowly slips beneath the covers.

Tyrion extinguishes all the candles but one next to his side of the bed. He climbs up to find Sansa lying stiffly on her back, staring at the canopy.

"I promise you have nothing to fear from me," he insists, softly. "You don't have to be uncomfortable all night because of me. I promise not to lay a finger on you."

"I know. I've just not shared a bed with anyone before, well, that wasn't Arya after a nightmare."

"You'll hardly notice I'm here," he assures her, blowing out the last candle.

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

"Goodnight, Sansa."

~Sansa~

" _You'll hardly notice I'm here." What a lie,_  Sansa thinks.  _I can't think about anything else._

She can hear his breathing, even and deep. No snoring tonight, though she almost wishes he would. At least then she'd have an excuse for not being able to sleep. All she can think about is how close he is. Sansa can feel the warmth radiating from him, and her fingers keep twitching, almost as if they want to reach out and touch him. See if he's really there. See if he is as solid as she imagines.

_Get a hold of yourself,_  she chastises.  _You are not a wanton woman of the night. You don't start caressing a man just because he is there. Because his stories make you laugh when you thought you never would again. Because he is the only one who has been kind to you since your family were declared traitors._

_Wait… where did caress come from? I only wanted to be sure he was there._

Sansa groans inwardly and turns her back to her husband.

_You don't want to touch him. You don't want to touch him. You don't want to touch him._

_~Tyrion~_

_You don't want to touch her. Okay, you do, but you can't. She'd run screaming from this room if she knew what you wanted to do._

In all honesty, Tyrion is a bit surprised he didn't go running from the room when he realized that when he thinks about touching her, he thinks about holding her. Not all the dirty stuff he normally imagines when he thinks about a woman.

Maybe it is because he's never been with a proper Lady before, and he wants to treat her as such. Or maybe he just wants to soothe away the pain she's endured.

_It's going to be a long night._

Tyrion focuses on keeping his breathing even, so she doesn't know he's still awake, because if the soft sighs coming from the other side of the bed are any indicator he's not the only one sleep is eluding.

~Sansa~

Sansa only manages a couple hours of rest before the chamber door opening wakes her. When she opens her eyes she is surprised to find herself staring at Tyrion's face, only a few inches from hers. He looks so peaceful.

_Peaceful won't do._

She nudges him under the blanket with her leg, trying to stealthily wake him. He must not be sleeping soundly, because his eyes pop open almost instantly. If he is surprised to find her so close to him, he doesn't show it.

Tyrion flashes her a wink, and then puts on a pained expression before starting to groan.

"Gods be merciful, I think I'm dying," he moans, sitting up.

"What's wrong?" Sansa asks, trying to seem suitably concerned.

"This damned mattress! I can't spend another night on it. Maid!" he snaps, and Sansa flips to be sure Pippa is with them, and not Shae.

"Yes, my Lord?" Pippa asks, coming into view.

"I want this bed completely stripped," he commands. Then turning to Sansa adds, "I'm having the mattress replaced. It is unacceptable that the damned lounge is softer than our bed."

"Whatever you wish," Sansa says sweetly.

Tyrion climbs out of bed and comes around to take Sansa's hand before leading her to the breakfast table where Pippa has laid out a beautiful fruit spread. They sit next to each other, nibbling at the different fruits and making small talk about the upcoming royal wedding.

Sansa watches Pippa from the corner of her eye, not wanting to seem too obvious. The handmaiden is pulling back the blankets, and then the sheets.

_There. She's seen it._

As Pippa pulls the final sheet down, the one covering the mattress, she pauses about halfway down. Just for a couple seconds, but Sansa knows she's seen it.

Before Tyrion returned to their rooms yesterday Sansa had already been preparing her plan. She had unmade the bed, and in the middle of the mattress poured a small amount of wine mixed with water. The water diluted the color of the wine, leaving a stain that looks remarkably like blood.

_Proof of our consummation._

Pippa finishes stripping the mattress and takes all the bedding with her when she leaves for cleaning.

"Did she see it?" Tyrion asks.

"I'm certain of it."

"Nice work," he compliments, patting the hand she has resting on the table.

Shae arrives, just then, and Sansa is thrilled to see her. She hopes she can get a few minutes alone with her to tell her about fooling Pippa.

Shae smiles her greeting at the couple and begins to collect the previous day's laundry. She is just gathering Sansa's gown when she freezes, her eyes locked on the bare mattress.

Shae swirls around, a look of cold fury on her face directed squarely at Tyrion. She tosses the laundry back to the floor with an angry growling noise and stomps out of the room before anyone can say anything.

"What— Why—?" Sansa stutters, not understanding what is happening.

"I think she saw the mattress," Tyrion says quietly. "She's very protective of you, and I think she's angry at me for something she  _thinks_ I did to you."

"She looked mad at me," Sansa mumbles, lip quivering.

She's gotten good at hiding her true emotions, but Shae is Sansa's only friend in King's Landing and the thought of losing her is too much.

"No, no, of course not. I'll go have a word with her. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll be back shortly," Tyrion assures her.

He quickly pulls on a suitable shirt and rushes out of the room.

"Shae!"


	5. A Walk to Remember

_**Five** _

~Tyrion~

"Shae!" he calls, trying to catch up to her, cursing his short legs and small stride.

_If I were as tall as Jaime I'd have caught her by now._

"Shae!" he yells, rounding the corner and bumping straight into her.

She's standing, arms crossed angrily, looking straight down at him. The amount of hatred on her face causes Tyrion to cringe.

"Stop your yelling," she insists, voice hard. "Do you want to draw everyone's attention?"

"I was just trying to get yours."

"Why? What is there to say? I saw the stain. I know you've bedded her."

Tyrion sighs and tries to take Shae's hand, but she shrugs him off. He points to a nearby alcove, and Shae rolls her eyes but follows him when he heads into it.

"I did not bed her," he says quietly.

"Don't lie to me. I saw—"

"You saw diluted wine. Sansa's new maid is a spy for my father. We had to make her believe we've consummated, or my father was going to send guards into our chambers and force us to."

Shae is still looking at him with suspicion in her eyes, so he continues.

"I promise you, I have not touched my wife. I told Sansa I would not share her bed until she wants me to."

"Until she wants you to?" Shae demands, eyes flaring. "So, what you are saying is that if she gives you the signal you'll be desperately pawing at her without hesitation?"

"I could not deny my wife, it would break my vow."

"Don't act like you wouldn't like it. I see the way you drool over her. And what is a vow to  _you_? Didn't you once say you were  _mine_?"

"You know I had no choice but to marry her. Besides, it isn't like she'll be begging me to come to her bed anytime soon… or ever for that matter," Tyrion tells her.

"You stupid little fool," Shae sighs, throwing her hands in the air. "You are so blind. The girl likes you."

"She may tolerate me—"

"Tolerate you? Yesterday she yelled at Lord Kells' wife in front of all the High Garden Ladies because Lady Kells made fun of you. Sansa said that Lord Kells was hiding like a coward during the Blackwater Battle, while you were leading the charge."

Tyrion doesn't know what to say to this new bit of information.

"This poor girl has been through hell," Shae says, her voice losing some of its venom. "She has been mistreated, humiliated, and degraded all while not being able to say a word in defense of herself or her family. You have been kind to her, you protect her, and from what I see you even make her laugh."

Shae kneels down before Tyrion, and places a hand on his cheek.

"I know you are insecure, and you can't see that she is starting to care for you, but you are exactly who Sansa Stark needs."

"Shae," Tyrion whispers, "I still care for you."

"I know you do, but you are also starting to care for her. That and your duty to your family will always keep us apart. I like Sansa; she is a sweet girl. She needs your protection… and your devotion. I am going to make it easy for you, by doing something very hard for me. I'm leaving King's Landing tonight."

"Shae—"

"I am going to the free cities. I've saved up more than enough gold from our time together to keep me comfortable the rest of my days."

"You don't have to go."

"I can give you up to save her… but I can't watch you fall in love with her. I  _do_ have to go."

Tyrion's eyes prickle and he tries to blink back tears.

 _She's the first woman since Tysha_   _I cared about_ , he thinks as he looks into her warm brown eyes.

"I'll miss you," he tells her softly.

"And I'll miss you, my Lion."

Shae gives him a sad smile before leaning in and placing gentle goodbye kiss on his lips. It's over before he knows it and she is up and walking away, not once looking back.

_I couldn't bear it if she did._

~Sansa~

Sansa waits impatiently for Tyrion to return, pacing back and forth across the chamber floor. When he is gone for more than twenty minutes she starts to doubt he will return right away, and dresses for the day.

_I don't know why I'm bothering; I don't have any plans today. I'm sure I'd be welcome back for tea with the High Garden ladies, but I really don't wish to see them._

Sansa takes her time dressing, drawing out the process by choosing to wear her hair in an elaborately braided fashion. In Winterfell she was often in charge of dressing herself, her father said it built character and would keep her humble, so she knows how to braid her own hair fairly well.

Since coming to King's Landing she's always had a handmaiden to do it, and her fingers have grown clumsy from being out of practice. She has to undo and redo her hair several times before she's happy with it.

When she's done with her hair, she hesitates over which gown to wear.

_If I am to stay in the chambers all day I should wear something simple, but if I am called away I will look foolish for having spent so much time on my hair._

In the end she decides to wear a silvery-blue gown, with a silver chained belt cinched around her waist.

Perhaps spending so much time on her appearance _is_  foolish under the circumstances, but Sansa finds an escape in it. When she first arrived in the south she was immediately taken by the fashions and the trends… the romance of it all.

She was just a girl then.

After all she's been through in the past year, Sansa knows she will never be  _that_  girl again. Trying on her gowns, feeling the silks against her skin, and styling her hair in a daring new fashion, makes her think of those early days in King's Landing. Back when everything had been perfect.

When the chamber door opens she can almost believe it is her father coming to call on her.

She tries not to let her disappointment show when her husband walks in. She realizes that it isn't hard because she isn't entirely disappointed to see him.

He's wearing different clothes than he left in, and she decides he must not have moved all of his things here yet.

"You look breathtaking," Tyrion tells her, pausing in the doorway.

"Thank you," Sansa blushes. "You're too kind."

"And you are far too beautiful for the likes of me."

"Do not think so lowly of yourself, Tyrion. Besides, I am no great prize coming to you with the blood of traitors in my veins."

He gives her a sharp look and steps into the room, closing the door.

"Sansa, I know I am a Lannister and you have no reason to trust me, but there is no need for you to call your family traitors when we are alone. I know you don't believe that… and I'm not sure I do either," he tells her, softly.

She wants to believe him, needs to believe that someone is on her side. The young girl in her wants to latch onto his honeyed words, but the hardened woman she's become resists after being fooled so many times.

"They  _are_  trait—"

"Sansa… don't," Tyrion interrupts.

Irrationally her eyes begin to water, and before she can stop it tears start streaming down her face. She turns away, embarrassed.

She feels him take her hand and looks down to see him holding it gently. His fingers are soft, and warm; her hand begins to tingle from his touch.

"If it upsets you we needn't talk about it at all," he assures her, "but if you  _do_ feel the need, you can speak openly with me. I promise I won't judge you or think lesser of you for loving your family."

When Sansa meets his eyes she finds only kindness.

"After all, my family is a bunch of insufferable bastards and I still love them. Well… some of them. All right, like three of them. My point is… Well, actually I've quite forgotten my point. I just wanted you to know I am here for you."

He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a handkerchief, and passes it to her.

"Dry your eyes, beautiful girl. I'd like to go on a walk and show off my trophy bride," he smiles brightly.

His attitude is so infectious that Sansa can't help but smile back.

"Thank you," she says, passing the handkerchief back.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing towards the door.

Sansa nods and they depart.

Tyrion first leads her out to the courtyard, where they see several other people out walking. Everyone keeps their distance from them though, instead choosing to gossip, their whispers barely concealed behind hands and fans.

"Does it bother you?" Sansa asks. "The way they whisper about you as if you aren't right here?"

"I've grown quite used to it over my lifetime. Does it bother you?"

"It used to, but I suppose I've grown used to it as well."

"I've had enough of being a spectacle for right now," Tyrion tells her. "I want to show you something."

He leads her to a part of the courtyard she's never been in before and up a set of stone steps. She follows, slightly out of breath, until she finds her self atop the castle wall looking out over Blackwater Bay.

"It's beautiful up here," she gasps.

"It's quite peaceful. I like to come up here to get away sometimes."

"I can see why."

Looking out into the bay, Sansa realizes that if she concentrates she can make out shipwrecks from the battle. She sighs and stares out at the ocean, imagining herself to be on a ship on her way back to her family.

"I talked to Shae," Tyrion finally says.

"Is she mad at me for something?" Sansa asks desperately.

"No, of course not. She wasn't really that mad at anyone. She's had a rough day, and when she thought I may have… mistreated you, she bolted because she couldn't stand anymore bad news."

"What other bad news has she received?"

"I'm sorry… but she's been called away for a family emergency. She leaves for the free cities tonight."

Sansa feels as if a bucket of ice water has been dumped on her.

"She's— she's leaving? Will I get to see her?"

"I don't think so, no. I'm so sorry, Sansa. I know you two are close."

Sansa sighs deeply and nods, trying to push the pain aside. It's easier than it used to be and she wonders if it is because she is growing stronger, or just losing the ability to feel.

"She should be with her family," She says finally.

"I knew this would upset you," Tyrion tells her. "That's what took me so long to return. I wanted to get you something to cheer you up."

"You didn't have to do that," Sansa says, turning to face him.

"No, but I wanted to."

Tyrion reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small package. He hands it to her and begins to wring his hands nervously.

When she opens it, Sansa finds a beautiful flowered pendant with a sapphire in the middle, hanging from a silver chain.

"It's gorgeous," she smiles.

_Much prettier than the one Joffrey gave me._

"It's a family heirloom."  
"Thank you. Are you sure you should give it to  _me?_ "

He waves her reservation off.

Sansa kneels down and wraps her arms around Tyrion. He only hesitates a moment before returning her embrace. She finds the contact much more enjoyable than she would have imagined, and has a slight tinge to her cheeks when she pulls away.

Tyrion is staring at her in wonder.

"May I?" he asks, pointing to the necklace.

She nods and passes it back to him, and he walks around behind her. Sansa's hair is up so he has easy access, and she tries not to shiver when his fingers graze her neck.

"It's lovely," she says, standing back up. "Thank you."

"Of course, my Lady." He pauses. "I do however have more unfortunate news."

Sansa nods and braces herself.

"My father has requested we dine with the family tonight."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

If you are interested in the inspiration for Sansa's necklace I have posted a link at the bottom of the page, you just have to remove the spaces:

www. josephjewelry jewelry /images /Custom -Blue-Sapphire-Pendant-front-1483 .jpg


	6. Family Dinner

_**Six** _

~Sansa~

After Tyrion gave her the pendant they spent the rest of the afternoon together in the royal library. Sansa had only been there a couple times before, but never for any length. Tyrion took her around and explained the cataloguing system, even helping her find a couple songbooks. They spent most of their time in silence, looking through the dusty tomes, but Sansa didn't mind. In fact she found that rather than feeling awkward, the silence they shared was rather comfortable… almost intimate.

As they make their way to dinner with the Lannisters, Sansa is so thankful for her choice in attire for the day, glad she won't look like an underdressed fool. On the way Tyrion warns her that his father  _will_  be there, but overall that is for the best, because he will keep Joffrey and Cersei in line. She doubts this but doesn't say anything.

_Trying to contain Joffrey is like trying to contain wildfire under a wooden bucket; it only fuels the flames._

"Take a deep breathe, everything will be fine," Tyrion assures her as they stop outside the King's private dining room.

Sansa obeys, inhaling deeply, but she can't control the flutter in her stomach as she follows her husband into the room.

_This will be a long evening,_  she thinks taking in the scene.

Tywin is sitting at the head of the small dining table, glaring daggers at Cersei who is to his right. She seems to be polishing off her wine glass at an alarming rate. Next to her is Tommen, looking small and sullen, no doubt missing his sister. At the other end of the table is Joffrey trying to look impressive, but only managing uncomfortable and unsure under the gaze of his grandfather.

"About time," Cersei mumbles into her cup when she sees Sansa and Tyrion enter.

"Please excuse us if we are late," Tyrion says grandly, "as you well know I don't travel all that fast."

"Why don't you and your lovely bride take a seat," Tywin offers courteously.

Sansa freezes, unsure where to sit.

_Which is worse? Tywin or Joffrey?_

Tyrion sense her hesitance and hurries to pull a chair out for her, to Tywin's left.

"My Lady, why don't you sit here?" he smiles, obviously thinking Joffrey is not the safer bet.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Sansa sits, and helps Tyrion slide her chair in.

"We haven't seen much of you two," Joffrey smiles wickedly. "I take it you've been…  _busy_?"

"Joffrey, darling, what your uncle and his bride do in their spare time is their own private business," Cersei says sweetly, "and I'm sure our little dove wouldn't like to discuss such matters."

Cersei gives Sansa a sneering smile; the one that always follows her statements she feels will make others uncomfortable.

After telling off Lady Kells for speaking ill of Tyrion, Sansa finds it harder to keep her tongue, and can't help stop herself from rising to Cersei's bait.

"It's alright, your Grace," Sansa smiles at Cersei. "We  _have_ been rather busy. It has been nice the last few days getting to know one another away from the eye of court."

"Yes, I'm sure," Tywin says loudly, interrupting before Cersei can respond. "It must have been hard for you these past months, under the prying eye of everyone because of the people you are related too."

"It was completely understandable, my Lord," Sansa tells him mechanically, eyes downcast. "My family are traitors."

"No," Tywin says, causing her head to snap up.

Sansa looks at him, confused.

"You are a Lannister now. Your family were traitors, but now you are one of us. That means you must be above reproach. You cannot give anyone cause to doubt you, because it reflects on my name and my allowance of you to marry my son. Do not make me regret this match."

"How touching, father," Tyrion snorts, "though perhaps you could have made your 'welcome to the family' speech a tad less terrifying."

Tywin gives Tyrion a challenging look, but remains silent as the servants chose that moment to bring the meal in.

The spread is marvelous, as always, but Sansa has a hard time tasting anything. She is too focused on keeping her movements measured, and her responses proper. She is mostly ignored as Tywin domineers the conversation, using the time to point out Joffrey's inadequacies when it comes to ruling.

She is almost starting to enjoy herself, basking in Joffrey's humiliation and discomfort, when she leans forward to pour herself another glass of wine.

_This stuff really isn't as bad as I used to think._

"What are you wearing?" Cersei asks loudly, her fork clattering to her plate.

Sansa looks around, trying to find whom she's referring to. It takes her a moment to realize it is herself.

"I'm sorry?" she asks.

"That necklace!"

"That would be a gift from me," Tyrion answers.

"That was mother's pendant! She cannot wear that! It belongs on a Lannister Lady!" Cersei demands.

"She  _is_  a Lannister Lady, currently the only one. You are, after all, a Baratheon, dear sister. Soon to be a Tyrell."

"Don't you dare—" Cersei starts, but Tywin interrupts.

"Enough! Cersei, you will treat Lady Sansa with more respect, I will not have whispers circulating that our own house fights one another. If I didn't think she should wear that pendant, I would not have given it to Tyrion when he came to me," Tywin glares at his daughter.

Sansa has to bite back her smile.

"It looks very lovely on you, Sansa," Tywin adds turning his attention to her.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Sansa feels Tyrion pat her leg beneath the table, offering his support, and is grateful to have him there with her. The rest of the meal she can sense Cersei's eyes on her, and whenever she looks up sure enough the blonde is glaring at the pendant around her throat. Sansa is certain the woman would strangle her with the chain if she had the chance.

When dinner comes to an end, Sansa is only too glad. She and Tyrion bid their goodbyes, and return to their chambers. On the way out, Sansa makes the mistake of looking back and receives a leering wink from Joffrey,

"You survived!' Tyrion announces happily, as they draw near their chambers.

"I suppose I did," she replies with a small smile.

"I know my father seemed a bit rough, but he actually likes you. I know that may be hard to believe, but that's how he treats those he likes."

"I can't think why he would like me," she comments. "Considering where I come from."

"I think that  _is_ why. He knows you must be a smart, resourceful girl to have survived here for so long. The lone wolf in a den of hungry lions; he thinks you are impressive."

Tyrion opens their chamber door for her. Sansa enters and sits on the chaise.

She laughs, humorlessly, reaching up to start unbraiding her hair.

"I'm far from impressive," she tells him.

"Oh, my dear lady," Tyrion says softly, "I completely disagree."

He climbs up to sit next to her.

"You are one of the most impressive women I have ever met. I don't just mean your beauty, which knows no bounds, but your mind as well. I know the game you are playing, that you have had to play every day since your father's unfortunate fate. There are not many who could pull off what you have, and I think you underestimate yourself completely."

Tyrion reaches out for one of her hands, which have fallen to her lap.

"Sansa, you amaze me. Every time I look at you I think I must be dreaming, because surely someone as special as you cannot be married to myself, a mere joke of a man."

"Tyrion," she whispers, "you are  _not_  a joke, and I don't ever want to hear you say something like that again. I—I'm starting to think— you are—"

She can't get the words out. She can't put what she's thinking into any coherent statement. Sansa is so confused; trying to understand how the things she's feeling could possibly coincide with her _Lannister_  husband. She settles on one thing there is no dispute to.

"I'm glad it was you they gave me to"

Her voice is so quiet; at first she's not sure he heard her, but then there is no mistaking the look of awe on his face.

"As am I."

Tyrion leans in, and at first Sansa doesn't understand why.

Then it hits her.

_He's going to kiss me._

His lips are soft, and warm, but she doesn't know what to do. Her stomach starts to flutter for the second time of the evening, but this time it is a strange, highly enjoyable sensation. She hears herself give a tiny moan, and immediately becomes self-conscious.

_Did he hear that? Should I be doing something? Will he be expecting more than this? I don't know what to do… I've only ever had one kiss before and that was a quick peck from Joffrey._

The name 'Joffrey' is like ice water, and Sansa Jerks away from Tyrion.

He looks just as flustered as she feels, and she her cheeks redden.

"Please, forgive me," Tyrion begs, " I didn't mean to force myself upon you."

"No!" Sansa objects. "You— you didn't. It's just I don't know what… I'm just… confused."

Sansa is frustrated. She's never been one to be at a loss for words, but she's starting to see a common recurrence around her husband.

"Understandable. I will try not to… overstep again. I don't wish to add to your confusion."

The sinking feeling in her stomach at his words feels oddly like disappointment.

~Tyrion~

Tyrion is cursing himself as he readies for bed. Silently, so as not to alert Sansa, who is changing just on the other side of the divider.

_You moved too soon,_ he berates himself.  _You've just pushed her further away!_

_She seemed like she was enjoying it._

_That's not the point! You've not earned her trust yet, don't test it already._

He can't stop replaying the brief kiss. Her tender lips, hesitant, yet yielding… Her honeyed breath, tasting sweeter than anything he'd ever had before.

He knows he'll have a hard time keeping his hands to himself tonight, knowing she'll be mere inches away.

"I'm done," Sansa calls softly.

Tyrion hurries to climb into bed, putting the candles out as he goes.

The hours pass slowly, or perhaps it is only minutes, he can't tell. He only knows that he is completely unprepared when Sansa drifts in her sleep to lazily curl up to him.

His breath catches as her arm comes to rest across his chest, pulling him closer.

_It is going to be a long night indeed._


	7. Brazen

_**Seven** _

~Sansa~

When Sansa wakes in the morning she can feel a satisfied smile spread across her face. She's not sure what caused it, but last night was the best night of sleep she's had in months. She keeps her eyes closed, wanting to enjoy that luxurious feel of contentment that comes with being on the verge of wakefulness.

She stretches her legs, and the arm she isn't laying on. When it comes back down to rest, her brow furrows.

 _What is that?_ She thinks hazily.

Sansa had thought she was cuddling her pillow, but the closer she comes to full consciousness the more she starts to recognize the shape beneath her. She gradually traces her hand across the firm surface in a small circle.

 _The surface is moving_ , she realizes suddenly, and she understands.  _You are cuddling your husband!_

Sansa sucks in a breath, hoping she hasn't woken Tyrion. From the position she is laying, it is obvious that she was the one to seek him out in the dark.

She's so embarrassed!

Slowly, and carefully, Sansa starts to lift her head and pull away from Tyrion. She's biting her lip in concentration when she gets far enough back for his face to come into view.

His eyes are wide open, and he is watching her with an impish smirk.

Sansa's cheeks flare red, and she looks away, ashamed of her body's childish need for closeness.

"Forgive me, my Lord," she says after a moment, her voice quiet and shaky. "I did not mean to invade your space. I must have done so while I was sleeping."

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear Lady. I promise it was not an imposition. In fact, that was the best rest I've had in quite a while."

Tyrion gives her a bright smile and sits up. Sansa is lying on her side, facing him, but her eyes are focused on the sheets.

"There is no shame in needing a bit of comfort. If it is something else you are worried about… after last night… I can assure you I kept my hands to myself," Tyrion tells her.

Her head pops up in surprise.

"No, of course not! I didn't think you, I mean, I know you would not do such a thing. You've proven that time and again. I'm just a bit embarrassed, I suppose, over how childish I must seem."

Tyrion laughs.

"Sansa, I can promise you that turning to your husband for a bit of comfort is the  _least_  childish thing out there."

Sansa feels her cheeks burn even brighter when she gets his meaning, and something else a bit lower starts burning too. She's starting to recognize the feeling as…  _arousal._

The heated look in Tyrion's eyes makes her wonder if he knows what she's feeling. Thinking that he might makes her feel even more flustered. Her chest is feeling tight, her lungs constricting. She knows if she doesn't do something she'll surely suffocate.

Sansa barely notices the distance closing, and the next thing she knows she's kissing him.

Her need to feel him close to her drives away the worries of her inexperience. In fact, the shocks vibrating through her body drive _all_  her worries away until there is nothing but them.

All that matters is that they be closer.

Tyrion, having gotten over his initial shock at being attacked by his wife, snakes his hand into her fiery locks, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

Sansa's mouth opens as she moans, and Tyrion slips his tongue between her lips. This new sensation sends shivers throughout her and she experimentally tries to mimic his tongue's movements.

She thinks she's doing it right as Tyrion groans and leans back into the bed pulling her with him.

Sansa can barely comprehend what's happening. She's in sensory overload. She can feel his firm chest pressing against her breasts as she leans into him, her fingers are clutching at the soft material of his tunic, and his tongue is everywhere.

_Who knew kissing could be so… completely perfect?_

Tyrion's hand leaves her hair, slowly making it's way down her neck, her shoulder, her chest… his fingers have almost reached her breast when they hear the clatter of breakfast china.

"Oh! Please forgive me!" Pippa exclaims. "I thought you were sleeping. I'll— just be back a little later."

Sansa jerks away and the spell is broken. The need is gone and in it's place her embarrassment has returned tenfold.

~Tyrion~

Tyrion could flog the maid when she slams the dishes onto their table.

He doesn't know what came over Sansa, but there was no mistaking the fact that  _she_  kissed  _him_. When he saw that glazed look in her eye as she studied him he thought he'd lose it and pounce on  _her_ , but she surprised him by being the first to spring.

Last night's kiss, while replaying in his dreams all night, pales in comparison to the passionate embrace they just shared.

Unfortunately as soon as Sansa realized they were not alone, she snapped back to her normal distanced self. He could see the walls sliding back into place behind her eyes, and had to fight the urge not to verbally abuse the handmaiden.

"That won't be necessary," Tyrion groans, talking to Pippa, as Sansa pulls further away. "You can continue about your work now."

He gives Sansa one last wistful look before climbing out of bed and pulling some trousers on.

He runs through a list of fates he would like to subject Pippa through as he seats himself for breakfast.

 _A quick beheading would be too kind… maybe a march through the streets while the low borns fling dung, and_ then  _a beheading._

Sansa joins him for the morning meal, but she is layered in her dressing gown and thoroughly distant. When he eats his fill, a quick task due to lack of appetite, Tyrion dresses and excuses himself. He thinks Sansa will probably be grateful for some alone time.

"Meet me here an hour before dusk. I should know by then if we'll be required to attend another family dinner," Tyrion says before heading out the door.

_She won't even meet my eyes._

When he finds Bronn, Tyrion is in an extremely foul mood.

"What's the matter with you then?" Bronn asks, taking one look at him.

"Who said anything is the matter?"

"No one had to say anything. I can see it on yer face. You look like a littleling who's had his sweets snatched away… and that's not a play on your size."

Tyrion sighs, and glares up at the sellsword. It doesn't have the desired effect so he gives in and tells Bronn what happened with Sansa.

Bronn whistles lowly.

"I'd have dragged the maid out by her hair right then," Bronn says, after the story is told.

"Considering her hair was a good two feet out of reach, I don't think that was an option. Besides, it was too late then. My lady wife had already reverted to her distant, proper self."

They walk quietly together, heading towards a solar in the Tower of the Hand where Tyrion attends to all the master of coin business. When they arrive, and both have heaping goblets of wine, Bronn starts laughing and shaking his head.

"What's so funny?" Tyrion asks, not amused.

"You. You are so…  _pouty_. Most men would chop off their arm to be in the position you are in."

"And what position is that? Hated demon monkey of the Lannister family?"

"No. You are a high Lord, married to a beautiful young Lady, whose sons will inherit the north, might I add, and she has just started to discover her budding sexuality. Yet you pout," Bronn says.

"Well—" Tyrion starts.

"No. You will not defend your attitude to me. So, you're pissed the maid walked in. Get over it. Odds are Lady Sansa would have pulled away sooner or later. You'll need more than a few kind words to get under that shift."

"What would you suggest?"

"Romance," Bronn says nodding.

Tyrion snorts into his goblet.

"What would you know about romance?"

"Hey, I know plenty. Just because I don't have time to woo a lady, don't mean I don't know how."

"Do share your wisdom," Tyrion sniggers.

"I will. I'm going to help you win over your wife."

~Sansa~

Sansa lets Pippa help her dress, being too distracted to give it much thought herself. The handmaiden chatters away about this bit of gossip, or that, but Sansa pays no attention.

 _You just… attacked him! Like some sort of loose woman. He probably thinks you're mad, or at the very least just another_ heathen _Northerner._

 _He didn't seem to mind,_ she counters to herself.

_Yes, well, everyone knows he has a taste for whores. It was unladylike to do that. All the songs say the knight kisses his maiden fair. Not the maiden fair acts like she works in a brothel._

_He isn't exactly a knight from the stories though, is he?_

Sansa contemplates that. No, Tyrion isn't at all like the knights, or heroes, from her favorite songs and stories. When she had first laid eyes upon him in Winterfell, she wondered how he would ever find a bride.

_And yet…_

When she looked at him, last night before he kissed her, and this morning before she pounced on him, she saw so much more than what she used to. She knows he is no knight, and no handsome prince, but Sansa has come to see that he is indeed handsome in his own way.

"Lady Sansa?" Pippa asks.

Sansa jerks out of her thoughts and turns to face her handmaiden. The look on Pippa's face suggests that wasn't the first time she tried to get Sansa's attention

"Yes?"

"Lady Margaery has requested you join her in her chambers for tea."

"Yes, of course."

Sansa checks over her appearance, and decides that Pippa did an adequate job. Her hair is done in the summer fashion of King's Landing, and she is wearing an amethyst colored silk gown.

Pippa escorts her all the way to Margaery's chambers, and Sansa feels a twinge of sadness when she thinks of Shae, wishing it were her here to be escort.

"Sansa! So glad you could make it," Margaery exclaims, when they enter. "You left rather abruptly the other day."

"Yes, do forgive me of that. I fear I may have reacted improperly."

Margaery laughs.

"Telling off Lady Kells was the highlight of the afternoon, if that's what you're talking about. After you left grandmother gave her a nice scolding as well."

Sansa can't help the smirk that forms. Lady Olena is known for her sharp tongue. She almost regrets not being there to see it.

"Come, sit," Margaery orders, gesturing her to small table set for two. "You must tell me how things are going with your handsome husband."

Sansa smiles, recalling a previous conversation with Lady Margaery. Sansa had just found out she was to marry Tyrion, and Margaery had reassured her, pointing out all of the good things about him. His kindness, his influence, his  _experience_ , and how handsome he was, especially with his scar.

"Things are… difficult," Sansa tells her.

"How so?"

Sansa isn't sure how much is appropriate to tell her. She wishes she had her mother to talk to about these things, or even Shae.

_But you don't…_

Realizing how great the need is to get things out in the open and talk to someone, Sansa starts spilling all the details of her last few days with Tyrion. Margaery listens with interest, only taking time to pour the both strong cups of tea.

"Wow," Margaery breathes, when Sansa finishes telling her story.

"I made such a fool of myself this morning!" Sansa fumes, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"What? No, no, no! Sweet child, you were perfect."

"He must think horribly of me for being so… brazen."

Margaery laughs.

"My dear, you could not have done better if you planned the whole thing. Trust me, he is not thinking ill of you. I bet he quite liked that you were the one to make a move."

"But only because he has a soft spot for whores. I acted as no Lady should," Sansa says, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"No, that isn't why," Margaery sighs. "Do you know why Lord Tyrion has visited so many brothels in his life? No? Well, think about it. Just look at him. I mean no offense to your husband, as you know I find him quite dashing, but there are not many women out there lining up to willingly climb into his bed."

"Isn't that why most men go to brothels?"

"Well, yes, but you're getting off subject. His whole life Tyrion has been rejected, you see the way people treat him. He thinks the only way he can find someone to be with him is when he pays them. Then here you come, sweet girl."

"We were forced to marry," Sansa objects. "He knows that."

"Yes, but no one forced you to kiss him. Don't you see what something like that would mean to him? For possibly the first time in his life, someone reached out to him, not because you were paid to, but because you wanted to. Wanted him," Margaery smiles. "Let me assure you, he does  _not_  think ill of you. If anything he probably thinks you a goddess."

Sansa is unsure if she believes Lady Margaery's reassurances, but she just nods along anyways and lets the subject drop. They spend the rest of the afternoon talking about the upcoming royal wedding, and the changes Margaery hopes to make when she becomes queen.

They are just discussing the plans to have Cersei shipped off to High Garden, when Pippa returns to escort Sansa to dinner.

"We should meet again soon," Margaery says, hugging Sansa. "You'll have to keep me updated on how things are going."

"Yes, it is nice having someone to talk to about these things."

Sansa follows Pippa from the room and is surprised when the girl turns in the opposite direction from her chambers.

"Where are we going?" she asks. "Lord Tyrion instructed I meet him in our rooms."

"I just spoke with Lord Tyrion, my Lady, and he gave me other instructions."

Pippa says no more and continues walking, so Sansa hurries to follow her, confused.

_This is the wrong way from the royal dining room, too._

The handmaiden seems to be taking her towards the castle gardens, and sure enough the next thing she knows Pippa is signaling Sansa to go outside.

"What is going—" the words die in her throat as the garden comes into view.

_Maybe he does think I'm a goddess._


	8. Magical Retreat

_**Eight** _

~Sansa~

Sansa stares out at the door in wonder, unable to move. The garden has been turned into a scene from a fairy tale. The sun has almost set, and is so low in the sky only the orange glow of it is visible over the wall of roses. The path she is meant to take is clear. It's lined with lanterns while the stones are scattered with flower petals and a shimmering substance that looks like flakes of gold. The light from the lanterns reflects brightly off of the flecks illuminating the way.

She glances nervously over her shoulder at a smirking Pippa, who only nods. Sansa takes a deep breath and follows the glittering path; it winds around to the nearest archway leading away from the main courtyard. Beyond the arch she finds her husband standing beside a magnificently decorated table.

The table is set for two, and covered in a cloth made of golden silk. Additional flower petals are sprinkled across the tabletop, and the lanterns surrounding them are set to a more intimate glow.

"My lady," Tyrion says, approaching her.

He takes her hand and bows his head to kiss it.

"You are a vision," he insists.

"Thank you, my lord. This— is amazing. I just… don't even know what to say."

"Don't say anything," he says, leading her to the table, "just enjoy."

He helps her take her seat, even going as far as placing a napkin on her lap before moving to take his own place.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Starved, " Sansa says.

Tyrion claps his hands and three servants appear from the main courtyard. Sansa is surprised, she didn't notice them when she came through, it's almost as if they magically appeared.

Each servant has a small plate of different starters for the first course. One has an array of olives, one has cheeses, and the third has a plate of bread, the thick hearty kind she prefers. As she helps herself to bread and cheese, Tyrion pours her a glass of wine from the decanter that was waiting on the table.

Sansa is just about to compliment his choice on starters when music starts up from behind her. She turns to see a lute player step from the shadows and begin pacing back and forth. He's playing one of her favorite songs, about a fair maiden rescued from an evil monster by the love of her life.

"How many more surprises do you have planned?" she asks, astonished.

"A few," Tyrion smirks, tilting his head to the side.

She can't control the smile that spreads across her face.

_I can't believe I ever thought he'd treat me poorly._

"You are amazing," she says quietly.

"For a Lannister?"

"For anyone."

The glow in his eyes at her praise causes her cheeks to burn. She's grateful for the shadows to hide her blush.

"I have a gift for you," Tyrion tells her.

"This is gift enough. I feel like I'm in a magical realm."

"Then humor me."

He holds out his hand to show her a beautiful ring pinched between his forefinger and thumb. It has a large sapphire decorating the silver band, with a diamond on either side.

"May I?" he asks.

Sansa holds her hand out and lets him place the ring on her finger.

"Perfect fit," he smiles, "and a perfect match for your pendant."

"You spoil me. It is gorgeous, thank you."

Just then the servants return with two new plates, one for each of them. The main course is a delicious smelling honeyed duck, another of her favorites.

The duck, of course, reminds Tyrion of one of his many anecdotes and he tells Sansa the story as they eat. Again she finds herself laughing at his tale, and truly feeling lighter than she has in months. The good company, soothing music, and magical surroundings almost make her forget where she is, and for that she is truly thankful.

As they finish up the main course Tyrion reaches inside his jacket to pull out a small wisp of cloth.

"I have a gift for you."

"Another?" she asks, astounded.

"And another after that."

A brief flash of worry hits her and she bites her lip out of habit.

"Has something happened?" she asks quietly. "To my… my family? Is that what this is all about?"

Tyrion looks surprised, and a little hurt.

"No, of course not. I know things have been difficult for you here at court, and you have suffered a lot. I just wanted to offer you an evening away from King's Landing. Here," he adds, passing her the cloth.

When she unfolds it she finds it is a beautifully embroidered handkerchief. It's not the item itself, but the artwork stitched into it that makes her eyes start to water.

"I know they took all of your items adorned with the Stark Household insignia away, and I didn't feel that was right," Tyrion explains.

In the center of the handkerchief is the head of a direwolf, but unlike regular Stark banners, this wolf is done in much greater detail. It doesn't take long for her to realize it's a picture of Lady.

"How did you—?" she asks, voice cracking.

"I had one of the guards who traveled with you on the King's Road describe her to a the woman who made that."

"Thank you."

"You'll have to keep it out of sight for the most—"

"Thank you," she repeats, interrupting him and taking his hand.

"You're welcome."

Dessert arrives soon after, giving Sansa just enough time to compose herself before they place the final tray before them.

"Lemon cakes! My favorite," she exclaims, taking one of the tasty pastries.

"So I've heard."

"One time, when I was a lot younger, Arya and I got into a fight at dinner and we were both sent to bed without dessert, which happened to be lemon cakes. After everyone went to bed I snuck down to the kitchens, trying to find some leftovers…"

"Lady Sansa!" Tyrion gasps, feigning indignation.

"I know, I know, quite the rebel. Anyway, I was skulking through the kitchen, and it was very dark, when all the sudden I bumped into this short little creature. It started biting and kicking at me, and scared the daylights out of me. Until I realized it was Arya, just before I was about to scream and bring the whole house down on our heads."

He starts laughing, no doubt clearly able to picture a terrified Sansa and rabid Arya.

"When I finally got her to stop attacking me, she confessed she was there looking for lemon cakes as well. We decided to team up, but unfortunately couldn't find any. So, with all the brilliance of an eight and five year old, we decided to make our own."

"And how did that turn out?"

"Well, funnily enough eight year olds are not good at baking, even with the help of a five year old whirlwind. We ended up making a huge mess! And so much noise one of the guards came into the kitchen with his sword drawn. Arya threatened him with a wooden spoon and he ran off to wake father."

Tyrion gives a low whistle.

"And how did Lord Stark react to his daughters trying to become bakers?"

"He was mad about the mess, but he was so impressed we were actually working together we weren't punished, well, too severely anyway."

Sansa smiles warmly at the memory. She can still picture the look of astonishment on her father's face when he walked into the kitchen to discover the place dusted with flour and lemon rinds, and the smile he fought to hide when they explained what they were doing.

She feels sad thinking about her father, but the good memory lightens the weight and she's glad she talked about it. She misses Winterfell.

~Tyrion~

He's so glad she has started opening up to him, but Tyrion can tell by wistful look on his wife's face, and the unshed tears in her eyes that she misses her home more than she would ever let on. The way her face lit up when she told him her story made his heart soar. He wishes she were always that happy, that her life wasn't so full of tragedy.

_One day she will be, and one day it won't be. I promise that. I will give her a life that she deserves and save her from these cruel people._

Not wanting her to get too overcome by grief, Tyrion pulls out his final gift for her.

"I have one last gift for you tonight, Sansa."

He passes her a small wooden box, eager for her to open it. She does so slowly, properly, even though he can see the excitement in her eyes.

She gasps at what she sees.

"They're beautiful! Is that—?"

"Obsidian? Yes," he smiles.

He had to pull some major strings to get them made so quickly, but Tyrion managed to get her a pair of dragon glass hair combs.

Sansa takes one of the combs from the box to inspect it, caressing its smooth surface lovingly. Suddenly she puts it back and stands up from the table.

"You're dismissed," she says, turning to the lute player.

Tyrion nods when the man looks at him for confirmation. When the musician leaves it's just he and Sansa left.

She's standing in front of him looking down at his face. The fireflies have come out and their glow combined with the lantern flames playing of Sansa's skin makes  _him_ almost believe this place were created with magic, instead of a purse of gold and very romantic sellsword.

Sansa graces him with another of her perfect smiles and kneels before him so they are at eye level.

"This has been the most magical evening," she says. "It is exactly what I had dreamed this place would be. Thank you, not only for your kindness, but for showing me I may not be as stupid as I thought for believing King's Landing could hold something special."

"My lady, you are not stupid, and this place would hold no magic without your presence."

Tyrion leans forward to place a gentle hand on her cheek, stroking the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

"I'm not doing this because of your gifts," she says quietly, "but because you are one of the only people to treat me like a human being since my father lost his head."

"Doing what?"

In answer Sansa leans in and places a gentle kiss on his lips. The intense need from this morning seems to be gone, but instead he feels a slow heat working its way through him.

Far too soon she pulls away and stands up. She offers him her hand and he eagerly takes it. They walk from the garden together, heading in the direction of their chambers.

When they come around the final corner, and see their door, Tyrion finds a very unwelcome sight in front of it.

"Can I help you?" Tyrion asks, tersely.

"There you are!" Tywin growls. "You need to come with me."

"Surely it can wait until morning?"

"No, it cannot. Your brother has returned to King's Landing."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

If you are interested, here is the inspiration for the ring (just remove spaces):

www. jewelryexpert catalog/ graphics/ Radiant-Sapphire-Ring-2 .gif


	9. Reunions

_**Nine** _

~Tyrion~

Tyrion stops dead in his tracks. Sansa's grip tightens on his hand, almost crushing his fingers.

"Jaime is back? Is he alright?"

"He's not dead," Tywin says. "Now, come with me... alone."

Tyrion nods and turns to face Sansa.

"I'm sorry to leave you, my lady. This is not how I pictured ending this evening," he tells her.

_I won't tell you what I pictured, though it would be worth it to see the shocked look on my father's face and the beautiful blush that comes so easy to your fair cheeks._

"I understand, my lord. You should see to your brother, I'm sure the tale of how he came to be here is a fascinating one."

He can see the curiosity and fear bright in her eyes, no doubt wondering if Jaime had to kill any of her family to escape.

"I'll try to be quick, but it would be best if you didn't wait up for me," Tyrion insists.

Sansa only nods before offering Tywin a small curtsy and entering their chambers alone.

_Jaime always did have the worst timing._

Tywin heads off, not bothering to accommodate his speed to Tyrion's small strides. By the time they reach Tywin's chambers in the Tower of the Hand, Tyrion is quite out of breath, but his discomfort is forgotten when he finally lays eyes on his brother.

"Jaime, thank the gods! I— oh... oh, no… Are you alright?" Tyrion asks, seeing the stump where Jaime's sword hand used to be.

"I'm not particularly happy… or in one piece… but I am alright," Jaime says, quietly.

"How did you escape?"

"Catelyn Stark."

"Did you—?" Tyrion starts, afraid to ask.

"I didn't kill her," Jaime scoffs. "She freed me."

"What? You were her son's best bargaining piece. Why would she just let you go?"

"Because your brother is a fool!" Tywin growls. "He made a promise he cannot keep, making a mockery of our name."

"I could keep it, if you weren't being so unreasonable!" Jaime shouts.

Tyrion, and Tywin for that matter, are shocked. Jaime never questions Tywin; he's always been the perfect son.

"What promise?" Tyrion asks.

"I promised Catelyn that in exchange for my freedom I would return her daughters to her. I was not aware that Cersei had let the younger one escape, or that Sansa had been married."

Tyrion is surprised at the amount of venom in Jaime's voice as he spit Cersei's name. He files that tidbit away as something to investigate later.

"Sansa is my bride."

"Hence the problem," Jaime grumbles.

"That is not the problem," Tywin booms, "the problem is that you made a deal you had no right to make! Whether the girl is married or not, I would not send her back to those damned northern fools."

"Why?" Jaime questions. "Offer her back along with a peace treaty! We have no love of the North, offer Robb Stark his kingship of the North and his sister back, the one you haven't lost, and he will end this damnable war."

"No!" Tyrion protests. "I will not have another marriage torn away from me. Offer your peace treaty, but you will not send my wife away."

The two other men in the room stare at him, one with a bored smirk and the other with full-blown skepticism.

"Do you care for the girl?" Jaime asks.

"It's becoming quite clear to anyone with eyes that your brother is infatuated the girl," Tywin says.

Tyrion looks away. He doesn't like having his feelings on display… especially around his family, who would turn his feelings into weaknesses if it suited them.

"Robb Stark would not accept a peace treaty without the return of his sister," Tywin insists, "and at least two of the people in this room are against giving the girl up. So, I will have to find a way to put an end to this debt you've incurred on my own because—"

"A Lannister always pays their debts," the brothers finish.

"At least I've taught you something."

Tywin gives them both a disgusted look before stalking out of the room.

"Tell me about your bride," Jaime requests.

"Tell me about your hand," Tyrion counters.

~Sansa~

Despite Tyrion's warning not to wait up for him, that's exactly what Sansa tries to do. After she changes into her night shift she starts pacing the chamber. She's so anxious after hearing about Ser Jaime's return to King's Landing.

_How did he escape Robb? What's happening? Is my family okay?_

She tries to keep her worried tears at bay, and picks up her embroidery to keep her busy. She's been neglecting it since her wedding, but now she relishes in the distraction. She's careful to make each stitch perfect, and precise. Sansa practices breathing rhythmically with the movement of her needle, finding the act both distracting and calming.

She hums quietly to herself, an old lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and doesn't here her chamber door creak open. It's the loud slamming that alerts her.

"Tyrion!" she exclaims jumping up and discarding her needlework.

Fear seeps into her belly, heavy as lead, when she sees it isn't her husband. Instead she finds Joffrey leaning against the closed door giving her one of his sickening self-satisfied smiles.

"Guess again, dear lady."

"Your grace… w—what are you doing here?" Sansa asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

She feels exposed in just her nightgown under his lecherous gaze.

"I knew my uncle would be busy with, well, my uncle and I thought you might be lonely. Missing the company of a man."

Joffrey saunters towards her, eyeing her like a predator stalking his prey. He walks in a slow circle around her, appraising her.

"Thank you for your concern, your grace, but I think I will be alright on my own. No need to trouble yourself over me."

"It's no trouble," Joffrey tells her reaching out to stroke her arm.

Sansa shudders in revulsion of his touch.

_No. No. No._

"Do you often sit around in your night things waiting to receive guests? It is very unladylike," Joffrey admonishes.

"It is late. I was not expecting visitors, and you didn't even knock… your grace."

"It is my castle, I do not have to knock. You are right about it being late, though. It's almost time for bed. Is this how you sleep after my uncle is done with you? In your shift? Or do you remain naked, just waiting in case he has more need of you?"

Sansa flushes and looks away. Joffrey's hand grabs her wrist tightly.

"Answer me," he snarls.

"I— sleep in my shift, your grace."

He clicks his tongue, and starts pushing her backwards towards the chaise. When the backs of her knees hit the edge she starts to panic. Sansa tries to pull her wrist from his biting grasp, but his fingers only tighten.

"Are you going to be an ungracious guest? As I said this is my castle, you are only here because I allow it."

"If I am a burden, your grace, you could always send me home," Sansa offers.

Joffrey snorts.

"I think not. They only way  _any_  part of you could leave this castle would be your head in a box, addressed to your traitor brother. So, if you wish to prevent that, I suggest you be a bit more accommodating of your king. I could always have Ser Meryn come in and join us. He's just outside after all," Joffrey says, gesturing towards the chamber door.

Sansa swallows back the bile threatening to rise.

"That will be unnecessary, your grace," she says, taking a seat.

"That's a good girl."

Joffrey sets down next to her, and drapes an arm across her shoulders. She tries to hide her fear, knowing it only encourages him. Sansa keeps her chin high and looks at him defiantly.

_Tyrion, come back. I need you._

Joffrey starts playing with her hair, running his fingers through it and twisting the curls around his fingers.

"You must feel very honored I have come to you. You are very beautiful, much more so than my demon monkey uncle deserves."

She remains silent, and when he realizes she isn't going to respond Joffrey twists her hair into a cruel fist and yanks her head back. She hisses at the pain, but he ignores her and presses his face close to hers.

"Your king just paid you a compliment."

"Yes, your grace, thank you. I am very honored."

"Then I shall honor you some more," he smiles wickedly, pushing her against the chaise.

Joffrey forces his knee between her legs, and Sansa starts shaking her head no. She tries to think of something to say that won't make things worse.

"P—Please, your grace. I am a traitor's daughter…I'm not worthy. You shouldn't sully yourself."

He just laughs at her.

"I'll take a bath after."

He reaches down, wrapping his fingers softly around her neck and the true fear sets in. Instead of squeezing, as she expects he starts to run his hand lower, stopping when he cups her breast.

A huge commotion in the hallway interrupts and Joffrey swears. He grabs Sansa's hair again and pulls her up to give her a brusque kiss, she tries to pull away but he bites her lip and she gives in. She doesn't fight she just sits there as he attacks her mouth.

"We aren't done here," he insists when he at last pulls away.

Joffrey stands up and marches across the room, flinging the door open.

"What is going on out here?" he demands.

"Lord Tyrion sent me to check on Lady Sansa, and Meryn wouldn't let me in," she hears Bronn say from the hall.

"I'm done here, let the slut attend to the next one," Joffrey sneers storming away.

With Joffrey and Ser Meryn gone, Bronn rushes in to find Sansa nearly in tears.

"Are you alright, my lady? Did he harm you?" Bronn asks, surprising her with the concern in his voice.

"Fine, thank you," she mumbles.

"I don't believe that."

Sansa stands to check her appearance in the mirror, and can see why he wouldn't believe her. Her hair is in knots, her cheeks blotchy, and her bottom lip is bruised and swollen.

"Tyrion sent you?" she asks, picking up a brush and trying to comb out the mess.

"No. I was just down this way when I saw Meryn outside your room. I know the Kingslayer has returned and thought you might be alone here. I wanted to be sure you weren't being harmed."

"I thank you, kind ser. You arrived just in time."

She puts the brush back down and wets a cloth from a basin to wash her face. She scrubs her tears away, and places the cool cloth on her lip.

"I must tell Lord Tyrion about this, he—"

"No!" she exclaims, dropping the cloth. "He mustn't know!"

"My lady, it is his right. He should know that Joffrey has been… threatening you."

"Why? So he can put himself in more danger? That's what will happen. He will confront the king and end up with his head on a spike. I will not have his death on my conscious. You must not tell him!" Sansa insists.

"I work for your husband."

"Yes, you do. It is your job to protect him. Having this knowledge will only endanger him. Don't tell him,  _I_  can handle Joffrey."

Bronn sighs and seems to consider her words.

"Fine. I won't say anything  _this time_ , but if it happens again, I must tell him."

"Thank you," she gushes, relieved.

Bronn just nods.

"What's going on in here?"

Sansa's eyes dart to the door, and she can't help the relief that floods her when she sees Tyrion standing there. She knows she's being too open with her feelings, and that both men can clearly read her reaction, but she doesn't care. She's feeling hurt and vulnerable and all that matters in that moment is the small man looking at her with nothing but kindness in his gaze.

"Were I a jealous man, I would be suspicious of my best friend in my bed chambers with my semi dressed wife," Tyrion muses.

"I was just checking on the lady, my lord," Bronn says stiffly.

"He saw Ser Meryn roaming these halls and wanted to be sure no one was bothering me," Sansa tells Tyrion.

"I don't think Lady Sansa should be without a guard when you are not around," Bronn insists. "There are too many enemies within these walls."

Tyrion seems to consider this for a moment and nods.

"You make a good point. I'll be sure to notify you next time I am called away so you can protect my lady, Bronn."

"As you wish."

Bronn nods a goodbye to the both of them and excuses himself, but not before giving Sansa a withering look that clearly says,  _"tell him._ "

"I told you not to wait up for me," Tyrion smirks, taking her hand to kiss it.

"How is your brother?" she asks, ignoring him.

Tyrion sighs wearily.

"Can we talk about it in the morning, I am exhausted. I will assure that none of your family were harmed."

Sansa lets out a deep breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Yes, it can wait until morning."

Tyrion helps her put the candles out and when they climb into bed, Sansa doesn't hesitate to curl up to him. She needs his warmth and comfort after her encounter with the king.

It doesn't take long for her to drift off to sleep. She vaguely realizes someone is pressing a kiss to her forehead before she falls into dreams of a magical garden and a handsome knight.


	10. Opening Up

_**Ten** _

~Tyrion~

_In the middle of the night, unable to ignore her close proximity any longer, Tyrion reaches out to Sansa. She is curled to his side, sleeping. He twists to face her, and brushes a soft curl away from her face._

_Still she sleeps._

_He caresses her cheek, eliciting a small smile from her, and he can't keep himself from leaning forward and peppering her fair skin with delicate kisses. It must tickle her, because Sansa smiles again and rolls onto her back. Sleepily, her eyes start to open._

_"What are you doing?" she asks, voice thick and tired._

_"I cannot contain myself any longer, my lady, you are far too beautiful," he explains, cupping her cheek._

_She bites her lip nervously, her expression drowsy, as she studies him. Suddenly her eyes brighten and she reaches up to pull him to her. Her lips are just as sweet as he recalls, and all rational thought starts to slip away._

_Sansa's insistence is fierce and Tyrion is shocked at the need radiating from her. Her fingers are twined in his hair, and she protests when he starts to pull away._

_"Please," he insists, "let me look at you."_

_She doesn't hesitate after he makes his request. Sansa sits up and pulls the nightgown off over her head. The moonlight shines in through their bedroom window, reflecting off of her milky skin._

_"You are a vision of perfection," he whispers._

_"And you are too far away," she says seductively, reaching out to him again._

_Tyrion pushes her back down on the bed and lies on his side next to her, studying her naked form. He smirks mischievously and starts gently tracing circles on her stomach._

_His fingers trail up between her breasts then over and around her nipples, just close enough to tease. Sansa shudders beneath his taunting touch. He traces his fingers back down her stomach stopping just short of her curls._

_She wiggles impatiently and he can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips._

_Sansa gives him a fierce glare and flips on her side. This time it is_ she _who pushes_ him _back onto the bed._

_She reaches under his tunic, her fingers warm and sure on his chest. Sansa dips her head to kiss him, just a quick peck on the lips before brushing kisses along his brow and checks._

_She pushes his tunic up to bare his chest and her lips trail down the newly exposed flesh. Tyrion feels himself come to full attention, his member straining against the constraints of his shorts._

_He groans as she nips him lightly with her teeth, just above the waist of his shorts. She gives him a bright grin._

_"I won't be as cruel as you," Sansa purrs, pulling his shorts off._

_Tyrion thinks his heart will stop when her small hand grabs him and gives a firm squeeze, and he knows it stops when she places a wet kiss on the tip._

Tyrion jolts awake suddenly and groans when he realizes it was just a dream. He groans again when he feels the sticky mess clinging to his thigh. Cursing himself, he glances at Sansa, still asleep in his arms and feels a small bit of relief knowing she is oblivious to his nocturnal rendezvous.

She has a small smile on her lips, and though he hates to wake her, he is too uncomfortable to stay in his current position.

Tyrion tries to gently shrug her off, but is mostly unsuccessful. As soon as she is out of his arms, Sansa's eyes pop open.

There is a momentary look of panic in her eyes as she searches the room, but it vanishes when she sees him.

His chest swells.

He doesn't like her panic, but Tyrion is flattered that he seems to be able to banish it.

_Perhaps the day will come when my dream will be a reality._

He smirks at the thought, but tries to hide it. If his wife notices his leering grin and sticky nightclothes she might not feel as safe in his arms.

"You're up early," Sansa remarks, laying on her side facing him.

"I have a long day ahead of me. I was hoping to spend more time with Jaime."

"Do you have time to…" her sentence dies off, and she looks away.

Tyrion's mind immediately falls into the gutter, and it takes him a moment to pick up on where she was going.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I have time to share news of your family. I'll call for an early breakfast and then we can discuss it."

The relief on her face is evident at not having to voice her request. She's still uneasy about showing interest in her family, despite all his assurances.

Tyrion calls for Podrick to bring them breakfast, and he dresses in something more appropriate for the day, and a little less sticky. Sansa dons a dressing gown and waits impatiently at the table. To almost everyone she would appear the vision of bored indifference.

Tyrion isn't everyone.

He's starting to recognize her tics and notice how her nerves display themselves when she thinks they're hidden. Her eyes slowly scan every detail around her while her face remains bored. Her hands gently smooth the wrinkles from her lap, and the most telling, she gently adjusts her hair.

When breakfast finally arrives and Tyrion sits down next to her, he can tell she is finding it harder to keep up the indifferent façade.

"Your brother and mother are in excellent health," Tyrion finally says.

Sansa sighs in relief, despite the assurances he already gave her the night before.

"And no one was injured in Ser Jaime's escape?" she asks.

"He didn't escape."

"I— I don't understand."

"Your mother released Jaime."

"Why would she do that?" Sansa asks, shocked. "Did Robb order it?"

"Your brother did not order it, and from what I hear, is very angry with Lady Stark for what she did. Your mother let Jaime go after offering him a deal."

"What deal?"

"She would release him, and in return he was to return you and your sister, Arya, to your family," he explains.

Tyrion tries not to let the spark of hope in Sansa's eyes bother him.

_Of course she wants to go home. You would want to as well._

"I am sorry to tell you, my father has refused this exchange. For one, we do not know the location of your sister, and he insisted that as Jaime was missing for many months, he was not authorized to make that kind of bargain."

She casts her eyes down, and seems to think carefully before answering.

"Of course, my Lord. Besides, King's Landing  _is_  my home."

"Sansa…" Tyrion can't stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Please inform Lord Tywin that I would be happy to write to my lady mother and point out that Ser Jaime's bargain has been at least halfway paid," she continues. "The people here are my family, and therefore I need not be relocated."

"Damn it, don't do that!" he exclaims, smacking the table causing Sansa to jump. "I know you don't feel that way. How many times must I assure you there is no need to spew that nonsense to me?"

She's quiet for so long, he doesn't expect her to answer.

"That nonsense is what has kept me alive this past year." Her voice is quiet, but the measured anger in her tone is deafening. "What would you have me do? Sulk around our chambers and pointing out at every chance how much I hate the Queen, or telling you how many times I imagined throwing myself from a tower window in my wedding dress if I were forced to marry Joffrey? Should I voice how much I love and miss the North, or my family? If I do any of that, if I get comfortable saying those things, how do I know I won't slip up and say something to the wrong person?"

"You wouldn't—" he starts.

"No," she shakes her head, interrupting him. "Do not say it wouldn't happen. You don't understand. Every time I open up to you and speak of my family, it gets harder to close that part of myself back up. Don't take any of this personally; I do trust that you mean me no harm. You've proven that time and again. I enjoy sharing my stories with you. At dinner I loved telling you about Arya and I. It was amazing to talk about, but it was hard to close myself off afterwards."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean, I have to be hardened when it comes to my family. If someone mentions my father losing his head I can't cry, I have to nod and agree he was a traitor. If someone had asked me about Arya last night after dinner, I would have burst into tears."

He thinks this over and mentally kicks himself for being so insensitive. He knew how strong she had to be, how smart she had to be, to survive here at court, but he never considered how hard it must be for her when he asked her to be honest.

"What you're saying is you need time to prepare yourself after talking, or thinking of your family?" he verifies.

She nods.

"I can't just flip a switch."

Tyrion considers this.

After a moment he can't help but comment on something else she mentioned.

"Did you really imagine jumping from a tower in your wedding dress?"

"Yes," she smirks. "I thought it would be quite the memorable sight. It would probably have inspired a tragic song about the would-be-queen."

He chuckles.

At that moment Podrick and Pippa both enter the room.

"Pippa, out," Tyrion orders.

The maid looks confused and ready to protest but seems to think better of it at the last second.

"Podrick," Tyrion says, "It seems Lady Sansa and I have come down with something. Can you inform my brother I won't be meeting him today, or tomorrow for that matter? Also, we may be contagious, so the only person who is to enter this room is you, and then only at meal times. Please inform Sansa's handmaiden of this. That is all."

Podrick looks a little uncertain, but has learned not to question Tyrion's peculiarities. He nods and slowly exits the room.

"Now," Tyrion smiles, looking at a stunned Sansa, "You have plenty of time to tell me more of your stories and still close yourself off before dealing with anyone else."


	11. Discoveries

_**Eleven** _

~Sansa~

They got to spend two and a half days locked away together before Tywin himself came pounding on the door, demanding their presence at dinner.

In those two days Sansa developed a new understanding for her Lannister husband. They shared stories of their childhoods while sipping spiced wine, and though her head grew foggy the more she drank, Sansa started to realize something. While many of her stories involved her brothers and sister, or her parents, Tyrion's only ever involved Jaime.

When she finally worked up the courage to ask him why his stories were only about Jaime, he just laughed.

"Jaime was the only member of my family I ever spent time with."

"What about Cersei? Or your father?"

"Cersei hated me, still does in fact, for killing our mother. She died giving birth to me, and Cersei has never forgiven me. My father blames me as well."

"That's ridiculous. There is nothing to forgive. They are imbeciles if they think that!" Sansa scoffed. "I bet your mother would not blame you if she were here."

"You're too kind… much too kind for a demon monkey like myself. I'm  _quite_ the dream husband, I know."

"Now, now. I am the disgraced daughter of the traitor Ned Stark, it seems we are a perfect match," she smirked.

"I'm starting to believe so," Tyrion said, so quietly Sansa wondered if she misheard.

When they weren't reliving their childhoods, Tyrion taught her to play chess. She was certain he threw a few games, but he just assured her that his teaching prowess must have been even greater than he imagined. In return for Tyrion teaching Sansa chess, she tried to show him how to do needlepoint.

She was shocked to see how quickly he picked it up when, after only an hour's time, he showed her an elaborately stitched curse word that made her blush.

"Are you just talented at everything?" she asked.

"Many things," he answered with a wink, "but I may have deceived you. I already have a basic knowledge of this craft."

"How?"

"When all the other little boys were out playing knights, I wasn't allowed to join them. My father feared I would embarrass our house. So, I spent my time locked away with my nanny, when Jaime was not around, and after repeatedly begging out of boredom, she showed me how."

"And your father was okay with  _that_?" She asked incredulously.

"Well, he didn't find out for a few months. That's how long it took him to notice that I'd been stitching this word," he held up his needlepoint, "onto all of his clothes."

Despite the crassness of it, Sansa couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up at the thought of Lord Tywin sauntering around Casterly Rock with the word 'cunt' sewn into his sleeve.

"Please tell me Cersei suffered a similar branding?" Sansa asked, still grinning.

"Oh, yes… though I wasn't as subtle with hers. I remember being banished from her and Jaime's name day festivities when she opened up my present, a extravagantly monogrammed gown. The laughter erupting through the hall when she pulled it put of its wrappings kept me strong while I received my lashing later."

When she was finally able to control her giggling, Sansa could only stare at Tyrion in wonder.

"You are amazing. How were you born into such a family?" She asked, and then immediately regretted it. "Forgive me, I did not mean—"

"Sansa, don't… I've often asked myself the same question."

Once they would climb into bed Sansa would immediately curl up to Tyrion. She knew she would do it in her sleep anyway, and she feels better close to him. He seems to keep her nightmares at bay.

When the time comes to finally leave their room and be burdened by the presence of other people, Sansa is a little nervous. After two days of not having to hold her tongue, or guard her expression, she just hopes she doesn't let anything slip.

She dresses in green silks and is pleasantly surprised to see Tyrion has dressed to match her. She can't believe how different he looks to her now than he did when they first met. Sansa can't look at him without thinking how handsome he is, and have her stomach start fluttering. She briefly wonders what it would be like to have him as a lover.

"Sansa? Are you ready to go? You look a bit flushed. You haven't  _actually_  come down with something have you?" Tyrion asks, studying her.

"What? No! I'm fine… ready to go if you are."

Tyrion opens the door and gestures her to go first.

They go to the same dining room as before, but this time Tommen is missing, in his place is Jaime.

Sansa is careful not to stare at his stump, having been prepared by Tyrion beforehand.

"Ah, my new sister," Jaime says loudly, standing. "Why don't you sit across from me so we can get to know one another. I'd love to get to know you just as well as my twin. You are a welcome addition."

Sansa is certain she isn't the only one to catch the double meaning behind his words, if Tywin's scowl and Cersei's burning eyes are any hint. She's also certain, thanks to Tyrion's tip about Jaime being mad at Cersei over something, that his words are meant to elicit that exact response.

"Thank you, I would like that," she smiles sweetly, taking a seat across from Jaime, and unfortunately to the right of Joffrey who sits at the end of the table.

Tyrion seats himself to her right, across from Cersei and next to Tywin. The servants immediately begin serving them, and the table is quiet while everyone gets situated.

The quiet doesn't hold. Soon Tywin is discussing war tactics with a bored Tyrion and enthusiastic Cersei. Tywin seems to be trying for Jaime's attention, but without success.

"How are you enjoying King's Landing?" Jaime asks Sansa.

"I'm finding it most pleasurable, Ser."

"Indeed, she is, uncle," Joffrey smirks, sliding his hand up her thigh under the table. "Sansa knows how to keep herself busy."

"Glad to hear it."

Sansa tries to keep the grimace off her face, but the odd look Ser Jaime is giving her tells her she isn't succeeding. She grasps for a topic, trying to ignore Joffrey's fingers biting into her leg.

"I was glad to hear of your safe return, " she says. "I am sorry for what you must have suffered at the hands of my treasonous relatives."

Jaime looks at her peculiarly.

"They miss you," Jaime says quietly. "That's why your mother released me."

Joffrey's hand pulls away from her.

"Jaime!" Tywin growls, having stopped talking just in time to hear Jaime's proclamation.

"Tyrion has informed me about what you had to agree to for your freedom," Sansa says. "I know that as being a member of the Kingsguard honor is very important to you, which is why I wanted to reassure you that your debt has already been paid."

"How is that?" Jaime asks, confused.

Sansa glances over to see that Tywin and Cersei are both watching her intently, while Tyrion is emptying his glass of wine.

"As Lord Tywin explained to me the last time we had dinner together, you are all my family now, so there is no need for me to be relocated. Also, you had no knowledge Arya was no longer in the capital, so you cannot be held to that word. If you would like, I would be more than willing to write my lady mother and point all this out to her."

Sansa's words cause an array of reactions. Tywin has a satisfied smirk, Cersei is glaring at her with suspicion, Tyrion is bored, and Jaime is in shock.

Joffrey's hand finds it way back to her thigh.

"See, uncle, she wants to be here," he says brightly.

Jaime doesn't say anything; he just studies her as the rest of the table continues on with their war talk.

By the time dessert arrives Sansa can barely keep the bile down, let alone take another bite. For the second half of the last course Joffrey has been trying to inch her skirt up beneath the table. She's tried to keep her expression neutral, but Jaime keeps looking back and forth between her and Joffrey questioningly.

Finally she can't take it. Sansa places her napkin on her plate and scoots her chair away from the table.

"I'm so sorry," she apologizes. "Please excuse me, I'm not feeling well."

Without waiting for a response Sansa rushes from the room.

~Jaime~

Jaime watches Sansa dash out the door

"I should go check on her," Tyrion says, standing up.

"Wait, I'm not finished talking with you," Tywin instructs, demanding attention.

Tyrion sighs but obliges.

"Well, that was rude," Cersei scoffs, leaning over to talk to Jaime. "Northerners," she sighs.

"She and Tyrion have been ill, perhaps she has not yet recovered," Jaime offers.

Cersei waves his comment off and tries to change the subject.

"Are you coming by my chambers later?" she whispers.

"I have told you, repeatedly, I have no interest in ever being in your chambers again," he says quietly through gritted teeth.

"You can't stay mad at me forever."

Jaime ignores her and instead turns his attention to Joffrey who is slinking out of the room.

_What the hell is he up to?_  Jaime wonders, despite having a pretty good idea.

Sansa had been wearing the same expression as Jaime throughout dinner, and  _he_  had been trying to keep Cersei's hands out of his crotch. The woman is persistent, and apparently their son had inherited that from her.

"Excuse me," he says brusquely, standing up.

Ignoring Cersei's indignant huff, he hurries from the room to follow Joffrey.

He doesn't have far to go.

Jamie hears their voices before he sees them, coming from an alcove.

"Please, just leave me be," Sansa begs.

"You ungrateful whore."

_SMACK!_

Sansa gasps and that's all Jaime needs to spring into action.

"What is going on here?" he demands, stepping into view.

Joffrey has Sansa pinned against the wall. She's cupping her cheek, and he's groping her breasts.

The fear in Sansa's eyes drives him forward.

Jaime grabs Joffrey by the back of his tunic and pulls him away from the girl.

"You have no right to manhandle me this way!" Joffrey screeches.

"And you have no right to attack this poor girl who, might I add, is legally your aunt!" Jaime counters.

"I am the KING! I have every right!"

"You are a lousy king if you think being a leader gives you the right to rape and molest. Run along to your chambers,  _your grace_ ," Jamie sneers, "or I will teach you a lesson you won't soon forget."

Joffrey sputters, speechless, before turning on heel and marching away the direction they came.

"Are you alright?" Jaime asks, slowly stepping towards Sansa.

"Yes, thank you."

She lowers her hand and he can see that the corner of her lip is bleeding. He pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to her.

"Thank you," she repeats softly.

"Has this happened before?" Jaime asks.

She refuses to meet his eyes, which he takes for a 'yes.'

"Still say you're finding King's Landing pleasurable?"

"King's Landing is where I belong," she says in a tone that suggests this is an automatic response.

Jaime glances around, and after being sure no one is around steps in a bit closer.

"Do you want to go home?" he asks.

"This is my home."

"I mean to your mother. I gave her my word. I know they call me oathbreaker, but my word means a lot to me. Say the word and I'll get you out of here," he whispers.

He can tell she doesn't believe him, but he doesn't get a chance to reiterate the offer. He hears footsteps approaching.

It's Tyrion.

"Who pissed in Joffrey's porridge?" he asks, coming around the corner. Then, after seeing Sansa, "what happened?"

Jaime glances at the girl, who shakes her head furiously, and steps towards Tyrion.

"We need to talk."


	12. The King's Indiscretions

_**Twelve** _

~Tyrion~

"We need to talk," Jaime insists.

"It seems that we do," Tyrion replies, studying Sansa's stricken expression, and taking note of Jaime's Lannister red handkerchief pressed against her lip.

It doesn't take a clever man to add two and two together, and Tyrion considers himself much more than a clever man. He's sure the discussion to come involves why his nephew stormed off in a pout, muttering to himself.

"I doubt this is a conversation suited to the hallways. The walls have many eyes and ears. Let's go to mine and Sansa's chambers," Tyrion offers.

Jaime nods in agreement and they set off, Sansa trailing just a few steps behind Tyrion, and Jaime just behind her.

It's a short walk, lengthened by the strained silence that hangs over them. Tyrion is feeling apprehensive when they finally reach privacy. He wants to know what exactly is going on, but knows he won't like it one bit.

"What is going on?" he demands, closing the chamber door.

Sansa ignores his look and goes to her vanity where she begins organizing the trinkets on its surface, her back turned to the Lannister brothers.

"Joffrey was rather too friendly under the table during dinner," Jaime answers, disgust clear in his voice. "Then when Sansa left he followed her. When I went to see if she was all right, I found Joffrey had her backed against a wall and he was groping her. I stepped in when she tried to get away and he struck her."

_Jaime to the rescue._

Tyrion feels a deep fury settle over him, and his face contorts into a mask of loathing. Jaime's involuntary step back makes Tyrion remember his scarred face and briefly wonder if he finally looks like the monster everyone mistakes him for.

Tyrion has wondered if Joffrey was still plaguing Sansa. He knew the boy wouldn't give up just because of her marriage, but Tyrion wasn't aware the problem had continued to escalate so quickly. Most of his anger is funneled towards his nephew, but a small beam slides its focus to Jaime.

"Maybe you shouldn't have made such a show of 'needing' Sansa's attention just to piss Cersei off!" Tyrion accuses.

"What?" Jaime asks, clearly confused.

"If you would have let Sansa sit next to father, as I had planned, this wouldn't have happened."

Even as Tyrion says the words he knows they are a lie, but he can't keep the resentment from spilling out.

Jaime may be his favorite family member, and may have always been the kindest to Tyrion, but that doesn't erase the fact that he has also continuously been the perfect son and handsome knight. This is something Tyrion has always accepted, but for some reason he finds himself a little less forgiving of Jaime's perfection in the presence of Sansa and her love for fairytale knights.

Tyrion can tell his accusation hurt Jaime, and feels the smallest twinge of guilt.

"This isn't the first time this has happened," Jaime says, trying to keep his voice calm.

"What? How do you know?" Tyrion asks.

"She wouldn't say as much, but I'm positive this has happened before. Her expression was pretty easy to read when I asked."

Tyrion looks at Sansa who has given up trying to keep her hands busy, and instead has her head bowed. She still refuses to face them.

Jamie prepares to take his leave, bowing to whisper to Tyrion by the door.

"Joffrey isn't going to scare off so easily. I don't think Sansa should be without a guard when you aren't around."

"That's what Bronn said," Tyrion replies quietly, things clicking into place. "Thank you for your assistance."

Jaime nods and stands back up.

"Goodnight, Lady Sansa. Consider what I said."

Tyrion shakes his head, already deciding that Sansa should indeed always have a guard when he isn't around.

When the door closes behind Jaime, Tyrion turns on Sansa.

"Bronn knows something, doesn't he? That's why he insisted you have a guard?"

Sansa remains quiet, but begins to undo her hair.

"He walked in on something. Why wouldn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't do anything about it?" Tyrion questions, feeling hurt. "Or do you think so little of me that you think I  _couldn't_  do something about it?"

Still she's silent.

"Answer me!" Tyrion demands, grabbing her arm and twisting her to face him.

Tears are silently streaking down Sansa's face, and Tyrion feels like an imbecile. She  _looks_  to be in perfect health, but he didn't stop to think how she might be doing emotionally.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I didn't think about how you must be feeling. Forgive my tone."

Sansa pulls her arm from his grasp.

"Do  _you_  think so little of me that you believe I would think such things about you? You must be quite blind not to see it…" she mumbles.

"See what?"

"To see how much I've come to rely on you! Gods help me, but I actually enjoy and need a  _Lannister_  in my life!"

Though her outburst sends a trickle of warmth through him, Tyrion doesn't let it distract him. Sansa can be a master of changing topics when she wants to be.

"What does that have to do with you keeping Joffrey's harassment a secret from me?" he asks.

Sansa drops onto her knees, making herself at eye level with Tyrion.

"What would you have done had I told you that Joffrey has been groping me and threatening to rape me at every chance he gets?" she asks.

"I would have cornered the little bastard and told him if he ever lay another finger on you I would cut his throat. I still might, actually."

"Exactly."

"I don't understand," Tyrion says, confused.

"I knew if I told you that you would run off and threaten the  _king_. You barely made it out of that drunken mess you made at our wedding feast. You wouldn't live through another threat. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get hurt," she explains, cupping his cheek with a gentle hand, "especially because of me."

Tyrion places his hand over hers, leaning into her touch.

"You could have told me that as well," he offers.

"No."

"No?"

"I wasn't ready to admit… that I cared."

Tyrion squeezes her hand. He doesn't know what to say. He  _wants_ to tell her that every day he is with her is a gift, and he can't imagine anyone more perfect for him than she, but he holds back.

_She said she cares about me… that doesn't necessarily mean what I want it to. She could just mean that she cares about me as a friend_.  _I know plenty of people that I wouldn't want to see harmed, that doesn't mean I want to bed all of them._

"Sansa, I'm sure you know that I care for you as well. Which is why I want you to tell me when someone is bothering, or threatening you. I refuse to let that stand. You deserve so much more than that."  _More than I can ever give, though I'll try my hardest if only you'll let me._ "Promise to tell me if this happens again, and I promise not to do anything rash. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

~Sansa~

Looking into Tyrion's eyes, Sansa believes he truly means it and feels even safer in his presence. A familiar tingling starts in her abdomen as she looks at his scarred, yet perfect face.

_It really isn't so bad,_  she thinks, unconsciously tracing a finger along the angry pink line,  _in fact I think it's dashing. It is a badge of honor displaying his bravery and valor. It's a reminder that everyone in this city owes their safety to him. My brave husband…_

When she realizes her hand is caressing the mark, she blushes and turns her eyes away. She can see his small smile out of the corner of her eye as he catches her hand and helps her to her feet.

Sansa finishes taking her hair down without another word, and begins changing for bed. When she is in her night shift, Tyrion pours her a glass of wine and pats the place nest to him on the lounge. She joins him and takes the glass, offering thanks.

"If it is too uncomfortable to talk about, I understand, but I was wondering if you could tell me about the times Joffrey has been… inappropriate with you. It might give me insight into how best to head him off. And honestly, it might do you good to talk about it."

Sansa sips her drink, trying to hide her discomfort and ends up taking far too big a gulp and choking. When her coughing fit ends, and she manages to breath normally again she nods and begins her story.

She starts with telling Tyrion of Joffrey's threats on their wedding night. How he said he would come in after Tyrion passed out and visit her bed… that if she wasn't willing he would have Ser Meryn hold her down. Then she tells him about the following day in the garden, where he asked lewd questions about the wedding night. Next, feeling completely humiliated, she describes what happened on the very couch they were sitting on, just a few days before.

"If Bronn had not arrived when he did," she says, her voice barely a whisper, "I fear he would have succeeded in finally raping me. He had me pinned right… right here."

Her voice cracks.

She's barely had more than a moment to herself since that encounter with Joffrey, and while she thought she had pushed it aside it now hits her how vulnerable it made her feel. He was  _here_  in the chamber she shares with her husband, and he almost violated her.

Tyrion clearly able to see her discomfort reaches out to reassuringly pat her leg.

"You don't have to say any more," he tells her.

"It's okay," she insists with a deep breath. "Tonight as soon as I sat down Joffrey started touching me under the table. I tried to pretend I didn't notice, but I don't think I was very convincing. Ser Jaime seemed to know what was happening. Finally I couldn't take any more so I fled, and as you know Joffrey followed."

" _I_ should have followed… I tried but my father held me up."

"I don't blame you. He didn't do anything more than before. He cornered and groped me… and hit me when I resisted, but Ser Jaime showed up and threatened him away," she says, sighing.

"The Valiant Jaime," Tyrion says, voice cool. "I'm sorry for what you suffered, and do not mean to make light of it in any way, but I am glad that is all you had to endure."

Sansa gives him a small nod, not sure what the right response would be in this situation. It wasn't exactly something covered in her 'Lady Training', as her brothers used to refer to it.

"How is your lip?" he asks.

"Better. The bleeding has stopped."

"You must be tired."

"I am," she answers, unable to hold back a large yawn.

"Well, to bed with you then! A lady should never cut herself short on beauty sleep… not that you need it."

Sansa smirks and paces to their bed, pausing before making herself comfortable.

"Are you coming?" she asks quietly, noting a book in his hands.

She hopes he can hear the need in her voice; she is far too mortified to ask him to join her, but she really wants the comfort of his body next to hers.

As if he can read her mind he nods and places the book on the closest shelf.

"Of course. I just had to put that away."

Tyrion climbs into bed and Sansa is quick to curl to him. She lies on her side with her head on his shoulder, and her hand on his chest.

Sansa doesn't notice the dark look in her husband's eyes as he sees the Lannister red handkerchief still clutched in her hand.


	13. An Ideal Offer

_**Thirteen** _

~ Sansa ~

When Sansa wakes she finds that Tyrion is already up and getting dressed. She yawns heavily and rolls to face him.

"Are you going somewhere?" she asks.

"I thought after breakfast I would run and grab my work things. I figured I could work here and we could spend the day together," Tyrion says, giving her a strained smile.

She sighs and sits up, pushing the covers away.

"Any particular reason you want to go through the hassle of lugging thirty pounds of ledgers to our chambers?"

"I'm a Lannister, my dear. I'd have someone else lug it, obviously."

Sansa glares at him, not at all amused.

"I just… wanted to spend more time with you," he offers.

"Are you sure you just don't want to leave me by myself after what we talked about last night?"

Sansa puts on a thin robe, and seats herself for breakfast. She's surprised to see that Pippa has already come and gone, all without waking her.

"Is it really so bad that I want to ensure you are safe?" Tyrion asks, sitting next to her.

"We can't just… just rearrange our whole life for the sake of one… bully. If we do that he wins."

"I'm pretty sure if he attacks you he wins," Tyrion mumbles.

"You know what I mean. If you have work to do today, go do it. There is no need to babysit me."

"You're right," he sighs, and the perks up. "I can have Bronn babysit."

While the term 'babysit' annoys her, Sansa knows that Tyrion does not see her as a child. That much is obvious by the way he is studying the thin fabric of her dressing gown as it clings to her every curve.

In that moment, she wishes he would kiss her. The way he studies her in combination with his obvious need to protect her makes Sansa want him more than she ever thought she could. Never in her life has she felt as beautiful as she feels when Tyrion looks at her.

"Are you alright having Bronn follow you around today?" he asks, averting his wandering gaze.

"I'm fine with it. I just don't know how pleased he'll be. I was planning to do some needlepoint in the garden."

"Perhaps you can give  _him_  a lesson," Tyrion laughs.

Sansa helps herself to breakfast, nibbling on a fresh roll and studying Tyrion. She forgets to school her features and is embarrassed when he catches her staring.

She looks away blushing.

When Pippa returns to gather the dishes, Tyrion sends her to find Bronn.

"Lock the door until he gets here," Tyrion tells Sansa. "Only open it for him."

She walks him to the door, promising to lock it behind him.

"Have a good day," Sansa says, and before she can second-guess herself, she bends down to give him a quick kiss.

Tyrion opens his mouth and closes it twice before he wishes her a good day in return and takes his leave.

Sansa has just enough time to dress and do her hair before Bronn arrives at her door.

"Good day, Ser," she says, answering the door.

"M'Lady," he grunts, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Did you tell him what happened?"

Sansa looks around the hall to be sure no one is around before answering.

"No. There was another… incident, and Ser Jaime told him."

"'Bout the only time I've been in agreement with the Kingslayer."

"Will you accompany me to the garden?" she asks, ignoring him.

He nods, and steps aside to let her exit the room.

"Do you want me to carry that?" Bronn asks, pointing at her sewing things.

Sansa smiles thinking of Bronn walking around with a lady's sewing basket.

"No, thank you."

It's a beautiful sunny day out, the perfect day to be in the garden. While the weather is still warm, there is a chill in the air hinting at things to come.

Sansa seats herself in the sun, loving the way the warmth plays across her skin, and begins on her needlework. She's making a present for Tyrion. He's been very generous with her, and she wants to show her appreciation.

Bronn doesn't seem to have the same need for warmth as Sansa, and instead chooses to lounge on the ground in the shade. It isn't long before she can hear him snoring. She tries humming to drown out the sound.

"What tune is that? I swear I know it."

Sansa jumps and pokes her finger with the needle. When she looks up she sees Jaime Lannister standing over her.

"My Maiden Fair," she says, running a thumb over her injured finger.

"Ah, yes. I  _have_  heard that one before. The lonely maid who runs off with a knight while her betrothed is asleep in the next room."

Sansa just nods. She wonders what he wants, but doesn't want to come straight out and ask.

"Do you have a moment to talk, my lady?" he finally asks.

"Of course. What can I help you with Ser Jaime?"

"Not here."

"I'm afraid I can't go anywhere else unless you would like me to wake Ser Bronn," she insists.

"I'll be brief, just come with me on one of the… more private paths. Five minutes, that's all I need."

Sansa looks over at Bronn's sleeping form, which seems to be snoring even louder. She didn't think that was possible.

"Five minutes," she says, standing up and placing her needlework on her seat.

Jaime offers her his arm and hesitantly she takes it, following his lead to the nearest garden path.

_Are there really two Lannisters I don't fear being alone with? Who would have ever thought?_

Jaime finds a place among the tall shrubberies for them to talk out of sight. He doesn't start talking until he's sure they are not being spied on.

"Do you want to go home?" he finally asks.

"King's Land—"

"Don't give me that line. I know you hate it here, and I know you are terrified every time you step out of the chambers you share with my brother. Do you want to go home?" he asks, every word deliberate.

"I… I c-can't."

"You can. I will help you. I promised your mother, Sansa. I can sneak you out of the castle, and I can get you home."

Sansa bites her lip. She wants to see her family again… her mother and brothers… Arya.

"If it weren't bad enough that my leaving would violate the King's wishes, I'm married. It would violate the oath I made in front of the gods."

"My brother told me that you haven't consummated the marriage. The gods would forgive you," Jaime says.

She blushes brightly.

"I don't… I just don't know."

"Think about it. In two days time there is a shipment of supplies going to some of the outer villages. I can sneak you out in that wagon and you can be on your way home."

His offer is so tempting she wants to tell him yes right on the spot, but she knows there is much more to think about than her childish wish for her mother.

Instead she just offers him a small and says she will consider his offer. Jaime holds out his arm once more and Sansa takes it, letting him lead her back to her seat by the snoozing Bronn.

Jaime takes her hand and kisses it before bidding her farewell.

"Two days," he whispers, "meet me outside my chambers in two days."

When he is gone Sansa tries to return her focus to Tyrion's present, but her mind is swimming.

_Can I trust him? Maybe this is a trap to test my loyalty to the Lannisters. He seems rather sincere though._

_Could I do that to Tyrion? Just run away without explanation? I'm not blind; I know he does harbor some sort of feelings for me. Can I just abandon him, making him the laughing stock of court? Tyrion Lannister: abandoned by the disgraced daughter of Ned Stark._

_At the same time, how could I_ not  _go? How could I pass up this opportunity to see my family again?_

She wants to throw her sewing materials to the ground in frustration, but refrains. Who knows who could be watching.

It doesn't take long for her to grow tired of the garden, and the watchful eyes she can feel tracing her skin. Sansa gently wakes Bronn and tells him she'd like to return to the room.

He escorts her back and promises to stand guard outside should she need anything. Sansa thanks him and barricades herself inside, throwing herself on the bed and letting her whirlwind of thoughts pull her all over the place.

_Go with Jaime._

_It could be a trap._

_I could be with my family._

_I would be without Tyrion._

_Do I care?_

_Yes,_ she realizes,  _I do care. I care a lot and I don't think I could ever just abandon him._

Sansa rolls over to groan into her pillow, realizing just how much more difficult her situation has become.


	14. Unwelcome Ears

_**Fourteen** _

~ Tyrion ~

Tyrion tries to get his work done as quickly as he can, not wanting to be away from Sansa for longer than necessary. He trusts Bronn to look after her, and knows the sellsword would never let anything happen to her, but will feel more confident when he is there himself.

Unfortunately his day is filled with unwanted visitors and meetings that cannot be postponed. He doesn't get to head back to his chambers until almost suppertime.

When he turns down the hall leading to his room he sees Bronn diligently standing guard and releases the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Bronn nods at him as he approaches, and Tyrion has a feeling he's about to be prevented from going home once more.

"We need to talk," Bronn says, glancing around.

"Well, let's take this inside, shall we?"

"No. This is something you'd should hear without your little doe-eyed wife there to distract you by batting her eyelashes."

Tyrion sighs and pulls Bronn away from the chamber door. He looks around to be sure they are alone before urging the man to continue.

"What is it?" Tyrion asks.

"I went to the garden today, with Miss Sansa—"

"Did she try to teach you needlepoint? Sorry, that was my idea," Tyrion chuckles.

"No, just listen. The Kingslayer showed up," Bronn says, and Tyrion stiffens. "I was pretending to sleep, and he showed up and led your lady off."

"Did you follow them?"

"Course I did. When I found them though, I only caught the end of what was being said. It sounded like he was trying to get her to run away with him. She said she'd think about it and then they turned back. I had to hightail it to make it back to my spot and feign sleep. I just barely made it before them. He told her to meet him outside his chambers in two days."

Bronn stands there eyes wide as saucers, his expression clearly saying he wished he weren't the one bearing this news.

"Thank you for telling me this," Tyrion says coldly, and tries to turn back towards his room.

_Of course she wants Jaime you imbecile, you can hardly be surprised,_  part of his mind insists.

_I thought she cared for me,_ another part supplies.

Bronn puts a hand on his arm stopping him.

"Do you want me to have some words with your rat brother?" he asks, chest puffed out.

"No, no, best leave things to me," Tyrion insists.

He storms back to the room and bangs the door open. A surprised squeak draws his eyes to the small couch, and they almost bug out at what they see.

Sansa is spread out on the couch, working on and her needlepoint. It's not that which surprises him, but the manner she's sitting and the clothing, or lack there-of, she's wearing.

She has her legs pulled up and folded beside her and she's leaning against the arm of the couch. Sansa is wearing what appears to be a nightdress, but it is unlike anything he's seen her wear before. It is a deep red, silky fabric that hangs low and comes up short, ending at mid thigh.

His mouth goes dry and he struggles to take a breath.

"You're home," she says, smiling brightly.

_And you're practically naked…_

_Probably just trying things on to take with her and Jaime,_  his wandering mind suggests.

Tyrion's eyes harden and he turns away from her.

"Just for a moment. I just had to grab this book," he says reaching for a random tome. "I still have a lot of work to get done."

Tyrion quickly retreats to the door and he hears Sansa scurry to her feet.

"When will you be back?" she asks, sounding hopeful.

_Probably hoping you won't be back._

"Very late," he says glancing back at her and trying not to notice how he can see the outline of her nipples through her gown. "Don't wait up."

Before he can back out he leaves and flings the door shut behind him.

~ Sansa ~

The bang of the door reverberates through her chest like a physical blow.

_Maybe I was wrong… maybe he doesn't want me,_  she thinks, heartbroken.

After she got back from the garden and had thrown herself into bed, Sansa had done a lot of thinking. After hours of agonizing over whether she should run away and let Ser Jaime take her home she had finally reached a decision; the decision to stay.

Once she let herself admit how much she's come to care for Tyrion, Sansa realized there was no way she could just abandon him. There's no telling what he would have to face from the wrath of Tywin if she escaped. She does know that he would be blamed, ridiculed, and much worse if she were to go, and there is no way she can do that to him.

She came to another decision during all of her thinking as well. Sansa has decided she wants to share Tyrion's bed in the manner of husband and wife. She wants him to make love to her.

She's not sure she actually  _loves_  him, but Sansa does care for him a great deal, and she has grown to find him quite handsome.

_Who knows if we'll both make it out of this war? There is nothing wrong with finding something to take comfort in from one's situation. Besides, if Joffrey were to succeed in his attempts… I'd much rather he not steal that special moment of becoming a woman from me._

She knows her reasons sound as if they are only born from fear and uncertainty, but Sansa doesn't see it that way. She sees it as taking full control over at least one aspect of her life. This is her decision to make, and she is choosing Tyrion.

_I know he will treat me right, and will be gentle._

With this in mind, she set to work. Sansa carefully unbound her hair, letting it hang in soft curls, and did her make-up, applying a generous amount of blush. She then dallied over which outfit to choose.

In the end she decided to dress in a night shift, knowing Tyrion wouldn't be back until dinner. Most of the ones she owns are modest and positively childish… not at all the look she was going for. She did find one, though, tucked in the very back of her trunk, all but forgotten.

_A wedding gift from Cersei._

The spiteful woman had showed up on Sansa's wedding day bearing the impractical, verging on scandalous, shift saying Tyrion would no doubt appreciate it if Sansa wore it on their wedding night.

Sansa had blushed profusely and barely managed to stammer her thanks. As soon as the queen had departed she shoved the frightful garment into the furthest corner of her trunk, not wanting to ever look at it again.

After deciding to seduce her husband and having no idea how to go about doing so, Sansa decided the improper shift was just what she needed.

_Surely he'll see me in it and know what I want… Gods, I hope so, because I only have the vaguest idea of what I want._

After dressing,  _if you can call it that_ , she settled herself suggestively, or so she thought, onto the couch and continued working on her needlepoint. As the time passed she became so caught up in her work, eager to finish her gift for Tyrion, that when he barged in she jumped and let out a squeak of surprise.

When Tyrion turned to face her Sansa felt her heart race.

_This is it…_

But then his eyes had hardened and he turned his back on her, with some excuse about work.

When she starts to recover from the shock of the slammed door, Sansa wanders to the bookshelf. She checks twice to be sure and sighs sadly when she sees the book he 'needed for work' was actually her collection of fairytales.

Tears prickle her eyes as she extinguishes the candles in the room and climbs into bed alone.

_Maybe he's never actually wanted me… he's just feigned it out of duty, and now that I'm interested he's retreating._

She lays there for hours the weight of rejection weighing down on her and preventing her from drifting off to sleep. Sansa's not sure what time it is when she hears the door squeak open and feels Tyrion climb into bed with her, but the sting of rejection hits her anew when he stays far on the other side away from her.

Eventually she hears him start to snore and wishes sleep would find her and carry her far away from King's Landing.

As more time passes she feels Tyrion tossing in his sleep, and hears him mumbling.

"S… Sansa…"

When she hears her name on his lips, Sansa quickly rolls over to look at him. Tyrion is laying flat on his back, and she blushes when she sees the way the covers are tented around his manhood.

_Perhaps he does desire me,_  she thinks.  _But why did he rush away?_

Sansa comes to the conclusion that she must not have been obvious enough, and perhaps he left in a hurry because he was trying to protect her from the indecency of the situation. She decides that her future attempts at seducing her husband have to be a lot clearer.

_Tomorrow we begin,_  she thinks, and falls asleep with a wicked smirk on her face.


	15. Sweet Seduction

_**Fifteen** _

~Sansa~

The next morning when she wakes Tyrion is dressed and on his way out the door, giving her no time to put her seduction plan into action.

_Not that I actually have a plan… I don't know how to seduce a man._

Sansa had always been warned that she would have to be prepared to elegantly brush off the advances of men, no one ever explained what to do if she  _wanted_  the man.

She sighs and throws herself back on the bed. Who in the world could she  _possibly_  talk to about such things? Sansa would have to find someone clearly comfortable with talking of these topics, and someone Sansa herself would be comfortable speaking to.

_Where could I find someone like that? Especially at King's Landing?_

She sits up suddenly, an idea clicking into place. Sansa realizes she already knows the perfect person. She jumps up and hurries to ready herself, throwing on the first gown she sees and braiding her hair in the traditional Northern style.

Sansa throws open her chamber door and once again finds Bronn standing guard.

"I need to see Lady Margaery," she says brightly.

Bronn just nods and falls into step behind her as Sansa heads directly to Margaery's rooms. When they arrive she knocks lightly and is pleased when Margaery herself answers.

"Sansa! What a lovely surprise! What brings you here this beautiful morning?"

"I had something I wanted to ask you… and I find the matter quite urgent," Sansa says, pointedly looking in Bronn's direction, hoping the other woman will take her meaning.

"Of course, of course," Margaery smiles. "Ser Bronn, would you mind waiting out here? The King does not like for me to allow men into my chambers."

Bronn nods and bows, and before she can blink Sansa is swept inside, the doors closing with a loud thud behind her.

"What can I help you with, Sansa?" Margaery asks.

Sansa looks around to be sure they are alone. After finding the chamber empty she opens her mouth to talk but freezes.

_Can I really talk about this? It isn't something discussed in civilized conversation… but we did discuss the marriage bed before…_

"Dear, anything you say will be kept between us," Margaery assures her.

The other woman then leads Sansa to a little sitting area and offers her a glass of wine. Sansa takes it gratefully and sips, then, finally finding her courage speaks.

"How do you seduce a man?" she asks, wincing as the words leave her mouth.

Margaery stares at her, mouth open forming a tiny 'o'. She had obviously been expecting something very different.

"That depends," she finally says. "Who is it you are trying to seduce?"

"My husband."

Margaery chuckles, but seeing the somber look on Sansa's face quiets her.

"You're serious?"

Sansa nods.

"Sweet child," Margaery sighs, "anyone who looks at the pair of you together can tell he is already, quite thoroughly, seduced."

"It's just that… we still haven't..." Sansa shrugs and looks away.

"Hmm… didn't he tell you he would wait for you to be ready?"

"Yes, and I am ready now. I've grown to enjoy my time spent with him, as surprising as that may be, and I want to be closer."

Sansa feels relief flood her as she finally openly admits her feelings to someone else. Keeping them bottled was driving her mad. Ever since she made the discovery her feelings she had wanted to share them, but in King's Landing caring is weakness and she didn't want anyone to have that power over her.

_I trust Margaery, though. She has been nothing but kind and helpful._

"Have you told him? That you want to… consummate"

"What? No! That would be… terrifying and humiliating," Sansa says, blushing.

"Have you given him any sign that you want to?"

"I kissed him… and last night I put on this gods awful nightgown I got from the Queen. He barely looked at me. He came in, saw me, and made an excuse to slink back out for work."

Margaery rests her chin in her hand, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Maybe you aren't being clear enough. You should just wait for him to get home and drop your gown."

"I— I couldn't… I could never do something like that," Sansa stammers.

"Alright," Margaery sighs, "let's think of something else.

After several hours spent planning in Lady Margaery's chambers, with lots of giggling, jesting, and blushing on her part, Sansa feels a little more confident when she returns to her chambers.

When they get back, Sansa sends off a message to Tyrion, practically begging him to be back for dinner, and then she sets to work preparing herself.

Margaery lent her a gown to wear, a bright blue one that leaves her waist and back bare, and ties just behind her neck. Sansa unbraids her hair, letting it hang in soft, crimped waves.

She almost has herself convinced she can do this when dinner arrives.

Pippa sets the table and Sansa dismisses her, wondering if Tyrion will show up. After about fifteen minutes if waiting, she's started to give up hope. Sansa stands with her back to the door staring into her vanity, trying to find the fault that is keeping him away.

The door opens and she stiffens. She uses the mirror to glance behind her, and finds Tyrion standing perfectly still, staring at her.

"You requested my presence, my Lady?" he inquires, tone formal.

She turns to face him, stomach in knots.

"Yes, my Lord. I have missed your presence… I was hoping you could tear yourself away from work to share a meal with me."

~Tyrion~

Tyrion stares at her in wonder. This angel… this fallen goddess he is married to wants his company, and he cannot find the words to deny her.

"Of course," he answers, against his better judgment. "It would be my pleasure."

The way her face lights up, Tyrion can almost believe that she cares for him… and he wants to believe more than anything.

He pulls a seat out for her, and bows as she takes it.

"Thank you," she says, still smiling.

Tyrion seats himself to her right, trying to fight the warmth that is bubbling in his chest.

"How was your day?" she asks, as she begins to serve food onto her plate.

Tyrion pauses briefly, knowing he should be distancing himself, but gives in. He can't so no to those bright, pleading eyes. He tells her of his work; about the money he managed to save the crown by convincing the Tyrell's to pay for half of the royal wedding, and about how he has devised a plan to get the kingdom out of debt.

She listens attentively, occasionally adding a bit of insight to his story, leaning towards him as he speaks, her interest unwavering. Then out of nowhere, she reaches out to touch his face.

Her touch is gentle, teasing almost as her hand grazes his cheek. She leans in close; so close he can almost feel her breath on his face.

"You have something… just… here," she traces her finger near the corner of his mouth, leaving a trail of heat in it's wake.

"There," she smiles, leaning slowly back into her seat. "Got it."

"Thank you," he manages after a moment of speechlessness.

Dinner continues on as if nothing has happened and Tyrion soon finds himself telling her more of his plan to save the kingdom from financial ruin. Near the end of his story, Sansa reaches out and places her hand atop his on the table.

"That is truly a remarkable plan," she says, voice sincere. "This place would be in shambles without you. Honestly, the whole castle should be expressing their gratitude for your hard work. I know that I am…  _very_ … grateful."

She starts rubbing his hand, tracing circles with her thumb.

"Yes, well," he clears his throat and pulls his hand away, "I am quite used to being underappreciated."

He scoots away from the table, not catching Sansa's eye roll. She stands up abruptly too, and starts piling dishes together.

"Ah!" she cries, her hand shooting to her neck.

"Are you alright?"

"It's just… I strained myself earlier trying to move that trunk of books over there. My neck and shoulders are quite sore. Do you mind… massaging them for me?" she asks.

Sansa looks down at him, her wide eyes puling him in, and he agrees.

She sits herself in the middle of the bed, and Tyrion soon joins her, standing right behind her. She pulls her hair to one side, then to his complete shock, she unties her gown letting the fabric fall free to her waist.

Tyrion gulps and tries to keep his breathing even as he brings his hands up to place on her shoulders. He feels the flames as soon as his hands touch her. It starts with searing his palms, but a new flame flickers to life in his gut. It's warm tendrils snaking out until he feels he will be consumed by the lust igniting within him.

He attempts to stay focused to his task, massaging small circles in her shoulders, working the tense muscles in her graceful neck. The small moan that escapes her lips is too much for him though, and he can't fight the groan of frustration that comes from him.

Sansa turns to look at him over her shoulder and he drops his hands, feeling ashamed of his dirty thoughts… or at least being caught in them. He looks down, studying the comforter, and then she is on him.

Sana twists so abruptly that he just manages to get a look at her, naked from the waist up, before she is kissing him.

Her lips are so hungry, so fierce, that he forgets she is supposed to be his innocent, blushing bride. She wraps her arms around him, one hand twining into his hair, pulling him closer.

Tyrion's hands move of their own accord and he finds himself fondling one of her perky, firm breasts, teasing her nipple to hardness. Sansa gasps, and then gives another throaty moan.

"Please," she whispers, "please…"

Tyrion freezes.

_What are you doing?_

He jumps back, pulling away from her as if burned.

"No…. no…"

He will not allow her to use this as her goodbye before she runs away with his perfect bloody brother.

Tyrion jumps off the bed glancing back at the confused and hurt look on her face. Her lips are swollen, hair is mussed, and her naked chest is flushed.

It takes all of his self-control to keep walking.

"No," he says one more time, shaking his head.

He then turns around and marches out the door, not knowing that the crashing bang pierces his wife's heart like a physical blow.


	16. Decisions, Decisions

**Sixteen**

~Sansa~

Sansa sits there staring at the door, numb from shock.

The numbness doesn't last.

The cool air, and the sting of rejection prickle at her skin. Her bare chest burns with shame and she crosses her arms covering herself.

_I don't understand!_ She thinks bitterly.  _All the signs say he wants me… he even responded there for a moment. Did I do something wrong?_

She curls up in a ball right in the center of the bed, letting her tears stream freely.

_Maybe it isn't that he doesn't want to bed me… maybe he just doesn't want to consummate because then our marriage cannot be broken._

Her chest aches at the thought.

_He wants me; he just doesn't want to be stuck with me._

Sansa pulls her knees up to her chest and sobs harder. She knows she shouldn't be surprised at being dealt pain from the hands of a Lannister, but the fact that it is coming from Tyrion is doubly worse. She's planning to abandon her family for him.

_I_ was _planning to pass up on a chance to return home, but perhaps I should take it. I bet Tyrion would be relieved to be rid of me._

~Tyrion~

Fuming and frustrated, Tyrion searches out Bronn. Right now he really needs a friend, and the sellsword is the best one he has. It almost surprises him how fond he's grown of the man.

Bronn is in his room with a whore when Tyrion pounds on the door. He can hear cursing and rustling clothes before the door answers. When he sees Tyrion, Bronn groans and drops his head.

"I thought this was my night off?" he asks, but seeing the expression on Tyrion's face he sighs and gestures his friend to enter.

Bronn grabs a couple gold pieces and tosses them to the girl hurriedly trying to dress herself. She winks, thanks him for the good time, and urges him to call on her again.

"Alright… what is it? You look like someone just murdered your favorite horse."

Tyrion sits down at an unstable looking wood table and pours himself a glass of wine.

"Help yourself, then," Bronn grumbles, taking a seat across from him.

After draining the glass in three long gulps, Tyrion begins to tell Bronn about the scene that just unfolded in his bedchamber.

"Wait, wait, wait… you're telling me that little lady innocence, the finest daughter of the North, just threw herself at you, practically begging, and you just walked out and left her half naked? I though you were 'sposed to be clever?"

Tyrion pours them both another glass of wine. He feels the overwhelming need to be drunk.

"I didn't  _want_  to leave," Tyrion argues.

"Then why did you?"

"I feel like this is her trying to… to say goodbye. As if this is her farewell before she runs off with perfect bloody Jaime. I had to leave because I can't let her get away with doing that to me. I… have really come to… care for Sansa —"

Bronn snorts into his wine.

"I hadn't noticed," he mumbles.

"—and it will hurt far more to let her pretend to care before disappearing, than it will to just let her go."

Tyrion stares into his glass, his thirst for drunken oblivion gone. He knows it won't dull the ache in his chest.

"So you're just going to let her go? Take off with your brother without putting up a fight?"

Tyrion shrugs, putting his glass back on the table, still full.

"I won't force her to stay here against her will. If it is what she wants and she has a way out, I will not stop her."

Bronn shakes his head.

"You really love her, don't you?"

Choosing not to answer, Tyrion stands up to excuse himself.

"Sorry to intrude on your evening. I'll let you get back to your time off. Thank you for the wine."

Bronn sighs and nods.

"Anytime, my friend, anytime."

Tyrion decides to spend the night in his office and avoid the uncomfortable scenario of returning to his and Sansa's chambers. He sleeps, or rather spends a few hours, curled up on the floor, rising early in order to beat the maid to his room. It wouldn't do to draw suspicion to the state of their relationship on the day his wife is going to try to disappear.

Sansa is awake when he enters their room, her head popping up when she hears the door. She is sitting in front of the mirror, combing her long hair. She's back to wearing one of her normal, chaste, nightgowns.

When Sansa sees it is him she glances away, turning her attention to her lap, her cheeks flushing slightly, and hands shaking as she continues trying to run the comb through her hair.

Tyrion slowly walks up behind her and reaches out to place his hand over hers, stilling her.

"Let me," he offers quietly, taking the comb from her unresisting fingers.

Sansa drops her hands to her lap, fidgeting slightly but not saying a word as he begins to comb her hair. He doesn't know what to say, so instead opts to start humming.

He works out the knots in her long mane and then trades the comb for a bristled brush, meant to bring out the shine in her locks. Every once in a while he'll sneak a look of her face in the mirror. Her eyes are closed, expression serene, except for the last time he glances up and catches the glisten of a single tear trailing down her cheek.

Tyrion sets the brush down and moves to her side, taking her hands in his.

~Sansa~

The way his hands run tenderly through her hair, and the way his gentle humming washes over her makes her almost believe he cares about her as she cares for him… but she knows that isn't so. She knows that while he may be attracted to her, and even feel some tiny vestige of fondness, he doesn't want to complete their marriage contract and be saddled with her for the rest of their days.

She doesn't even realize she is crying until he stops humming and takes her hands. She opens her eyes and looks down into his kind face.

"Sansa, what is wrong? You have not been… yourself lately," he says softly. "Is there anything bothering you? Anything you need to share with me?"

She opens her mouth and then closes it. She wants to explain her decision regarding Jaime, but fears Tyrion's reaction. She takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks.

_Love me._

"Forgive me my behavior as of late, I fear I have been overwhelmed by my," she blushes, "feminine tendencies."

Tyrion clearly does not buy this explanation, but is stopped from questioning her further by the arrival of breakfast.

~Tyrion~

While Tyrion cannot allow her to say farewell in the way she intended, he also cannot deny himself one more day filled with the pleasure of her company. He disappears for only the shortest amount of time, setting his workday affairs in order, before returning to his bride.

_How long can I still call her that?_

She graces him with a small smile when he reappears, warming him all over, and agrees to walk with him in the gardens. Their conversation is stilted and forced, but the feel of her hand in his makes up for it.

They return for a private dinner in their room and Sansa has a gift for him. It is a needlepoint she made depicting a dire wolf curled to the side of a lion. He swallows back the ache in his throat and thanks her, telling her how much he loves it.

Bedtime comes far too soon and Tyrion starts to panic knowing the time is coming. He wants to drop to his knees and beg her to stay, but fears that she would indeed do it out of pity. They climb into bed together, but the memory of the previous night keeps them on opposite sides, neither daring to bridge the gap between them.

He's not sure how long he lies there before he starts to hear her shifting around.

"Tyrion," she whispers.

He doesn't answer.

"Tyrion?"

He keeps his breathing steady and remains silent.

Sansa, taking this to mean he really is asleep, carefully slides out of bed. He hears the rustling of her cloak and bites his tongue.

Tyrion hears her careful footsteps across the chamber and then sees the sliver of light from the hallway as the door opens.

The light disappears as the door clicks softly closed and he lets out low groan.

_Go after her._

_No. I won't force her to stay._

_Go. After. Her._

_I can't._

_At least see her off… she doesn't even have to know._

Tyrion considers it and decides he can't fight the urge. He wants to be sure she makes it out of the castle safely.

Quickly, he springs from bed and pulls his trousers on, then rushes for the door. Once in the hallways he is glad he left his shoes behind, knowing the clack of his soles on the stones would give him away. He catches up to Sansa just one hallway from Jaime's chambers and does his best to stay out of sight.

_Another benefit of being the imp,_  he thinks sarcastically.

Sansa rounds the corner to Jaime's room and he stops just out of sight, waiting to hear what happens.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he hears Jaime whisper.

Tyrion imagines them embracing; his brother's strong, normal sized arms wrapping around her, giving Sansa the security she deserves. He bows his head in self-loathing and turns to walk away, not wanting any part of whatever is to come.

"I'm not here for the reason you think," Sansa says quietly, freezing Tyrion in his tracks. "I can't go with you."

Tyrion jams a finger in his ear and twists it positive he misheard her.

"Sansa, I can return you to your family," Jaime urges.

_Is that what this is all about? Jaime's promise to Catelyn Stark?_

"I'm sorry… I just can't go."

"There is nothing here for you," Jaime argues.

"Even if that may be so," she says, Tyrion's heart sinking, "there is someone _I_  must be here for."

"If you're talking about my brother, I assure you he'll be fine. If he's awoke to find you gone I wouldn't be surprised if there is already a whore in your bed."

Tyrion blanches, wondering how Jaime could say something so harsh.

"I  _am_  talking about your brother, and even if what you say is true, that doesn't change the fact that he needs me… even if he doesn't realize it. You know the type of man your father is," she insists. "What would he do to Tyrion if I went missing? It wouldn't matter if it was you, the golden son, who helped me leave. Tywin would punish Tyrion; not to mention the way he would be ridiculed even more by the people here at court."

"Tyrion knows how to handle father, and being ridiculed for that matter."

"I also fear what Joffrey may do if he blames Tyrion for my disappearing. You know the King has some sort of… weird fascination with me, and who knows how he would react if I am out of reach."

_She's trying to protect me,_  Tyrion thinks, astonished.  _She's giving up a chance to be with her family because she wants to keep me safe._

Jaime is quiet for a long while before finally speaking.

"You really care for him, don't you?"

She hesitates and Tyrion is on the verge of shouting ' _Well?_ '

"I do," Sansa replies stiffly. "Even if he does not feel the same way about me."

_What?_  He scoffs inwardly.  _Where would she get an idea like…_

_-click-_

Suddenly Sansa's behavior the last few days comes into new light. She hadn't been trying to say goodbye at all, but rather tell him that she chose  _him_.

_You bloody blind fool._

"Very well," Jaime sighs. "I suppose I understand your decision then."

"I should return to my room. I don't want Tyrion to wake and find me gone. He might call a whore to my bed," she adds sarcastically.

_You better move._

Tyrion turns away, missing whatever smart remark Jaime makes and races for his chamber. He doesn't want Sansa to know he followed her. He can hear her footsteps coming around the corner just as he slips back into their room.

He breathes a sigh of relief, sagging against the door.

"Well, well, where have we been off to?"

Tyrion stiffens and looks up to find Joffrey standing on the other side of the room, his face illuminated by moonlight.

Movement on his left alerts him too late to the presence of another, and suddenly everything goes black.


	17. The Unwanted Guests

**Seventeen**

~Sansa~

Sansa walks back to her room quickly and quietly, feeling confident with her decision. The more she thinks about it the more she believes she made the right call. Even if she were returned to her family, while it would be wonderful to see them, it's not like she would be a great help to the war effort. If anything she would be a distraction, or in the way. At least here she can feel like she is doing some good… protecting someone she cares about.

She is wearing a small smile when she opens the door, wondering if she might be able to wear Tyrion down over time. The smile disappears when she sees there are lights lit in the room. She steels herself to explain she was just restless and going for a midnight stroll, when someone grabs her arm and yanks her forcefully into the room.

Sansa shrieks but a hand comes down over her mouth, quieting her, as the arm that pulled her in wraps around her waist trying to still her.

"Be still," a voice growls in her ear. "Your King commands it."

Sansa freezes, fear trickling through her veins like ice water as she recognizes Joffrey's voice. She frantically looks around the room, searching for Tyrion.

Ser Meryn has a hold on him. There is a gag in Tyrion's mouth, and a quickly darkening bruise on the side of his face, but he is awake, staring at her with terrified eyes.

While her fear continues to intensify, she feels a quick burst of relief that he is alive.

"Now, what were you two doing out and about?" Joffrey asks, humor lacing his cold voice. "A little rendezvous somewhere in the castle?"

Sansa is confused, she stares at Tyrion and he glances away guiltily.

_He followed me._

If they were in any other situation she might be mortified over what he may have heard, but at the moment there are much bigger problems at hand.

"Do you do that often?" Joffrey asks, not removing his hand from her mouth in order to let her reply. "Do you enjoy the thrill that you may be caught… that someone may be  _watching_?"

He slides his hand slowly up from her waist, groping her, and Sansa shudders in revulsion.

Tyrion starts yelling into his gag, fruitlessly trying to slip away from Ser Meryn.

"Tonight someone  _will_  be watching… your husband. He's had far too much time to enjoy you on his own."

Sansa starts shaking her head furiously.

"What's that?" Joffrey asks, finally removing his hand from her mouth.

"Don't," she begs. "Please just don't make him watch."

Tyrion, despite all his faults, is a gentleman, and Sansa knows it will destroy him if he has to sit back and watch unable to do anything to save her.

Joffrey laughs coldly.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that is concern in your voice. Sansa! Have you actually come to care for the little demon imp?"

Joffrey takes her silence as confirmation and laughs again.

"Oh, this is brilliant! Meryn, take my  _uncle_  up by the bed, I want him to have a good view."

"No —" Sansa protests, voice cracking.

"Put a knife to his throat and if she tries anything funny, kill him," Joffrey commands.

Sansa gives a choked sob, and Joffrey releases his hold on her. He's confident she won't try to run, and he's right. She can't risk them hurting Tyrion.

Joffrey steps in front of her and offers his hand, a wicked grin on his face. Sansa slowly reaches out to take it, her own hand shaking uncontrollably. She's led across the room and over to the bed where Joffrey pushes her to sit on the edge.

Tyrion is cursing into his gag again, and Sansa glances over at him, immediately wishing she hadn't. His eyes are filled with guilt, and they are pleading with her to fight back. She sees the blade pressed to his throat, gives a small shake of her head, and turns her attention back to a leering Joffrey.

~Tyrion~

Tyrion feels like he is going to be sick. Sansa won't fight back because she refuses to be the cause of him being hurt.

Joffrey gives a triumphant smile and immediately pounces on Sansa.

He pushes off her cloak and starts tearing at the fabric of her nightgown. With every shred of the fabric Tyrion feels part of himself breaking.

_I can't save her. I am the worst, most despicable, worthless kind of man. I can't protect the woman I love._

Something flares within him.

_The woman I love._

Tyrion starts struggling with all his might against Ser Meryn, ignoring the blade digging into his skin. He fights and lashes out, growling. He can't get free, but he does manage to dislodge the gag in his mouth.

He coughs loudly, his tongue dry and leathery.

"Sansa, no!" he cries. "Fight back!"

"Quiet!" Meryn growls.

"LEAVE HER ALONE!"

Tyrion kicks back, connecting with Meryn's shin.

"Enough, or I will slit your throat, Imp."

Whether or not he was actually going to follow through, Tyrion doesn't know, because at that moment the chamber door burst open and Jaime came charging in.

Tyrion is tossed to the side unceremoniously as Ser Meryn identifies the bigger threat and charges Jaime. Tyrion winces as he hits the hard stone floor, but scrambles to his feet to find Sansa.

Joffrey has climbed off of her to face the commotion in the room.

"NO!" the king cries out, just as Jaime's sword plunges through Ser Meryn's chest.

"Sansa," Tyrion breathes.

She is backing up on the bed, moving as far away from Joffrey as she can. Joffrey, now more interested in his fallen henchman, marches towards Jaime.

"What do you think you are doing?" Joffrey screams, spittle flying from his mouth. "You have no right—"

Jaime punches Joffrey right in the face. His nose crunches loudly, clearly breaking, and he tumbles to the ground unconscious.

Sansa gives a sob of relief, and then to Tyrion's surprise, rushes into his arms. She scurries off of the bed, not bothering trying to close her shredded gown, and drops on her knees in front of him.

"Are you alright?" she asks, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Are you?" he counters, voice hoarse.

Even having heard her confession to Jaime earlier it is the look on her face in this moment that fully drives home that she cares about him.

"You're bleeding," she says, reaching up to touch a spot on his neck.

"I'm going to summon father," Jaime tells them, interrupting.

Tyrion pulls Sansa against his chest and looks over her shoulder at his brother.

"Thank you," he says, placing so much meaning in those two simple words.

Jaime nods wordlessly, staring at the way Sansa clings to Tyrion and the way he holds her back, then turns on heel and hurries into the hall, calling for a guard.

"I'm sorry," Tyrion mumbles into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

~Sansa~

It's not long before Tywin enters the room. Sansa hears him order his guards to stand outside before closing the door. She turns to look over her shoulder, frightened of what will happen next and sees Jaime is back as well.

"What in the Seven Kingdoms happened in here?" Tywin demands, gesturing his arms wildly.

Ser Meryn is in a bloody pool in the middle of the room, and Joffrey is still in a heap on the floor, his breath whistling through his broken nose.

Tywin looks over to Tyrion and Sansa, quickly taking in their appearances. Sansa in her utterly ruined nightgown, and Tyrion's bruised face and bloodied neck.

Tywin sighs heavily, placing his head in his hand.

"I can guess how this started," he says, voice tired. "This so called King showed up to take something he felt had been stolen from him," he gestures to Sansa, "and brought along his hound for the hard parts. How did you come to be here?" he asks, turning to Jaime.

"I was just on my way back to my chambers and I could here shouting. Tyrion was screaming 'leave her alone' and I barged in. I had a feeling of what I'd find. Joffrey has been hassling and threatening Sansa for some time now, from what I understand."

Jaime looks at Tyrion, probably wondering if he'll call him out on his lie.

He doesn't. Sansa knows it is because he is grateful to Jaime… and because he has always been the kindest to him.

"I saw Meryn holding a blade to Tyrion's neck, and Joffrey pinning Lady Sansa down. Meryn charged me, aiming to kill," Jaime continues, "and when I had dispatched him, I dealt with the Joffrey problem in a little less permanent manner."

Tywin groans.

"Why did no one tell me what the little prick was up to?" he demands. "We could have dealt with this well before this point was reached."

When no one answers Tywin stomps to the door and flings it open.

"Guards! Return the king to his chamber. Be careful he doesn't choke on his own blood… although that would certainly simplify matters around here." He adds, muttering.

Two men come in to collect Joffrey, one taking his arms, and one his feet. They are just carrying his limp carcass through the door when there is a loud, feminine shriek.

"My son!"

Cersei's eyes and ears must have alerted her there was a commotion.

The furious blond bursts into the room and looks around frantically; she ignores both Tywin and Jaime focusing only on Tyrion. Cersei marches over, the train of her dress trailing through Ser Meryn's blood, and grabs Tyrion's arm, pulling him from Sansa.

"What did you do?" she demands.

Without thinking, Sansa grabs Cersei's wrist and pulls the woman off of Tyrion.

" _He_ didn't do anything, get your hands off him!"

Her brain catching up with her, Sansa sucks in a sharp breath when she sees she is still clasping the queen regent's arm.

"You little cu—"

"Cersei! Leave them alone!" Tywin orders, interrupting his daughter.

Cersei yanks away from Sansa and turns to face her father.

Tyrion grabs a small blanket from the end of the bed and wraps it around Sansa, covering her. She reaches for his hand, squeezing it in thank you, but keeps her eyes glued on Cersei.

"What happened to my son?"

"Your  _son_  tried to rape his aunt," Tywin spits, disgusted. "Luckily, your brother Jaime was able to stop him in time. Something  _needs_  to be done about that boy!"

Cersei glares at Jaime, and waves her hand dismissively.

"He  _is_  king. He may do as he pleases," she says haughtily. "Might I remind you,  _Kingslayer,_ that it is treason to cause harm to our king?"

"Is it any wonder he is the way he is," Tywin says, exasperated. "I will not allow our family to be made fools of. That boy must be controlled. I will have to think on the best course of action."

Tywin steps into the hall, leaving the room in a strained, tense silence. Sansa grips Tyrion's hand harder as Cersei turns to look at them, hatred emanating from her in almost tangible waves.

From the hall they can hear Tywin ordering guards stationed outside of Joffrey's room.

"He is not to leave his chambers until I sort this out."

When he returns, Tywin orders Cersei back to her rooms, telling her she is not to go see Joffrey.

"You two," he says, facing Sansa and Tyrion, "grab what you need from here for tonight and go claim a guest room. I want to see you both straight away in the morning."

Tywin storms out yelling about getting someone to clean up Ser Meryn's body, leaving Jaime, Sansa, and Tyrion alone.

"What were you really doing here?" Sansa asks him.

Jaime looks to Tyrion, but Sansa just sighs.

"He already knows what I went to see you about."

"I wanted to ask one more time if you were sure you wanted to stay," Jaime sighs. "I see now that you are."

He nods to Sansa and Tyrion's clasped hands.

"Thank you… for everything," Sansa says.

Tyrion and Sansa pack a small bag of clothing and Jaime escorts them to a nearby guest room, refusing to leave until he hears the bar latch from inside, ensuring no one else will bother them tonight.

Sansa can tell that Tyrion has much he wants to say, but knows he'll be patient, something for which she's grateful. Her shock is starting to wear off and she is exhausted.

They climb into bed together and Sansa immediately seeks comfort from Tyrion. She clings to him, laying her head across his chest. Sansa feels him gently running his fingers through her hair, and hears him begin to hum just like he did this morning. She holds him tighter, hoping his presence will keep the nightmares at bay.


	18. Verdicts

~Sansa~

The next morning Tyrion slipping from her arms awakes Sansa.  She sits up abruptly, blinking rapidly, her eyelids still heavy with sleep.  She looks around the strange room momentarily confused by the surroundings until memories of last night come flooding back. 

_Jaime.  Joffrey.  Ser Meryn._

“Are you alright?” Tyrion asks, reaching for her hand.

She nods, but bites her lip in a way that gives away her insecurities.  Tyrion just waits, and she knows he can sense her mood.

“What do you think is going to happen?” she asks quietly.  “What will your father do?”

“I’m not certain.  The best thing to do would be to put the boy down, but as he is King…”

“Whatever Lord Tywin does, no matter what punishment he doles out,” she says worriedly, “it is only going to infuriate Joffrey further.  We will never be safe.”

Tyrion squeezes her fingers.

“Don’t underestimate my father… he’ll think of something.”

He helps her climb from bed and then they take clothes from the bag they had hastily packed the previous night.  They dress quickly, not wishing to keep Tywin waiting.  Tyrion picks up a decorative jug off the table and peers into it, sighing when he finds it empty.  Only Jaime knows which room they are in, so no servants will be arriving to bring them breakfast.  Or wine.

_Not that I could eat,_ Sansa thinks, her stomach bubbling with nerves. 

“I suppose we should just get this over with,” Tyrion sighs, offering his hand to Sansa.

She swallows, and takes his hand in hers, letting him lead her from the room.

Lord Tywin is already up and ordering people about when they arrive in the study of the Hand of the King.  Servants and guards are coming in and out of the room, responding to Tywin’s barked commands when Tyrion and Sansa enter.

“I was wondering when you two would get here,” Tywin drawls, not bothering to look up from whatever he is writing on his desk.

“After the events of last night my Lady and I were both in desperate need of sleep,” Tyrion says, offering no apology.

Tywin glances up then and appraises them.  Sansa looks away, her cheeks burning remembering the state she was in when Tywin last saw her.  He doesn’t offer understanding, but neither does he condemn them further for their tardiness.

Lord Tywin gives a small hand gesture and the room is cleared instantly, leaving just the three of them.  Tyrion helps Sansa take a seat in front of Tywin’s desk, and then sits himself beside her.

“This situation with Joffrey must be handled,” Tywin starts.  “In this time of war it cannot get out that we are fighting amongst our own family.  However, _King_ Joffrey is not one easily contained, as you may have noticed.”

Tyrion snorts.

“Therefore I have decided,” Tywin continues, shooting a glare at Tyrion, “that the best way to deal with this is to move the two of you out of Joffrey’s reach.”

Sansa, who had been studying her hands intently, looks up in hope.  She can’t even breathe as she waits for the next words out of Lord Tywin’s mouth.

“I’m sending you away from King’s Landing.”

Sansa’s heart skips a beat and she sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Where are you sending us?” Tyrion questions.

Sansa hardly cares; the only thing that matters in this moment is that she is finally escaping this horrible place.  She’s getting away from Joffrey, Cersei, and all the despicable people here at court.

“You’re going home to Casterly Rock.  Jaime is needed for the war effort, I am needed here as Hand of the King, and so you are needed home to ensure our people are prepared for winter.”

Sansa sees Tyrion start to swell with pride, but his hopes of fatherly pride are squashed easily enough.

“At least that’s what we’ll tell people,” Tywin grumbles.  “When I left I ensured the place could run on its own.  Though I suppose it is good for appearances to have a Lannister heir back at the Rock.”

Even being sent to the heart of the Lannister domain can’t bring down Sansa’s mood.  All that matters is being anywhere but here.   

~Tyrion~

Tyrion looks at Sansa trying to gauge her reaction to being banished to the Lannister home, but she has that cool unreadable mask on that she wears so well.

“When do we leave?” he asks.

“Tomorrow morning,” Tywin says.  “That is why my study has been busier than one of Littlefinger’s brothels.  I’ve made all the arrangements.  Your things are being packed as we speak, and your man, Bronn, is seeking out the guards that will accompany you.”

“Is there anything you need us to do?”

“Just stay out of Joffrey’s sight.  Though I have it on good authority he is hiding in his room with Grand Maester Pycelle trying to mend his broken nose.”

Despite her carefully crafted ability to hide her emotions, even Sansa can’t prevent the smirk triggered by this image.  Tyrion smirks too, enjoying the pleasure Joffrey’s misery brings Sansa.

Tywin looks back down to the papers on his desk.  After a moment of silence, he glances back up.

“That is all,” he says dismissively.  “You leave at dawn.”

After they leave his father’s study, Tyrion takes Sansa to the kitchens where he packs a basket of food for the day, and then to their old room.  There are servants in it packing all of his and Sansa’s belongings.  She collects travelling clothes and then they are on their way again, to the room they stayed in the night before.  They are careful not to be followed, and bolt the door after they are inside.

Tyrion sets the basket of food on the small table and turns to face Sansa.

“So…” he says slowly, “Casterly Rock.  How do _you_ feel about all this?”

The careful mask disappears in an instant and the clothing she is carrying goes soaring through the air.  Her hands fly to cover her mouth and she lets out a choked sob.

“Sansa?” he asks, worry flooding him.

_She’s terrified…_

_Of course she is, we’re sending her to the heart of the lion’s den._

Sansa steps towards him and drops to her knees so they are at eye level.  She lets her hands fall from her face and Tyrion sees that she has the biggest smile ever.

She throws her arms around him and gives him a tight, clinging hug, which he eagerly returns.

“We’re leaving,” she says softly.

Her head is turned so that her lips brush his ear as she speaks.

“I’m finally going to be free of this awful place… and you’ll be safe as well.”

With those words something clicks in both their minds, and as she pulls back Tyrion knows she is on the same page as him.  They are both thinking about what he overheard the night before.

“About last night, when you followed me… how much did you hear?” she asks shyly, pulling her arms from around his neck.

“I heard all of it,” he answers, deciding for honesty.

Sansa stares at the ground, twisting her hands nervously.

“Oh… well… I…” she fumbles.

“Sansa—“

“No, please just don’t.  I don’t want you to feel guilty, or obligated to do or feel something you don’t want to.  You’ve been pretty clear on your view of — of the matter.”

“Sansa,” he tries again, voice more firm.  “I’m afraid I have _not_ been clear on the matter at all.”

She arches her brows at the ground as if to disagree, but doesn’t say anything.

“I knew what Jaime offered to do for you.  Bronn overheard most of what was said that day in the garden and told me immediately.  I mistakenly thought you were going to run off with Jaime.  So, when you were being _unbelievably_ … tempting I thought you were trying to say goodbye,” Tyrion explains.

He places his thumb under her chin and gently raises it so she is looking at him.

“And I couldn’t let you do it like that.  It would have been far too painful to get to call you mine for a night only for you to turn around and leave the next day.”

“Why?” she asks.

“You have come to mean so much to me.  Everything about you makes me ache; your innocence, your charm, your wit, your beauty, the way you have learned to play the game and protect yourself.  If I finally got the chance to call you mine I don’t think I could ever give it up.  I couldn’t live with having had and lost you.”

Her eyes are locked with his, and he can see the way they are misting over, tears threatening to spill.

“What if,” she whispers, “what if I pointed out that I’m not going anywhere, and… that I’ve been yours for a while now?  I’ve just been waiting for you to realize it.”

Her words sink in, and his stomach flutters in anticipation.  He doesn’t hesitate.  He kisses her.

Tyrion cups the back of her head with one hand and draws her lips down to his.  He wraps his other arm around her and pulls her closer.  His mouth is urgent and hungry, and she meets him every step of the way, her lips just as greedy.

Sansa’s hands are on his hips and she clutches him tightly.

Tyrion pulls back, sucking in a much-needed breath.  The space between them crackles, charged with energy.  He has a question on his lips, but before he can utter a single syllable Sansa is nodding in response.

She stands up and offers her hand, which he takes eagerly.  Sansa bites her lower lip, but the resolve on her face strengthens and she leads him across the room to the bed. 


	19. Man and Wife

~Tyrion~

He's not sure where Sansa's boldness is coming from, maybe from pent up frustration, or from the relief of knowing she'll soon be safe from Joffrey, but he doesn't really question it. Tyrion lets her pull him to the bed. He climbs up and sits on the edge, unsure what to expect.

Sansa stands before him and bites her lower lip playfully as she unfastens the front of her gown. Letting the fabric fall to the ground, she then pulls her slip over her head and throws it to the side.

She's completely nude now and Tyrion is certain he is either dreaming, or has died and the gods have seen fit to reward him with eternal paradise.

When he doesn't say anything or respond, Sansa starts to fidget and he can see doubt start to cloud her features.

She is just starting to raise her arms to cover herself when he speaks.

"Forgive me, my lady," he insists, his voice reverent, "but your beauty is beyond all I've imagined and I find myself in awe. For what is probably the first time in my life, I am speechless."

Tyrion has seen many, many, naked women in his life. Each different, and each beautiful in there own way. His tastes vary and he has never found himself to hold to any certain preference above another. He likes tall women, short women, thin women, big women, red heads, brunettes, and blondes… the point is, he has found much to marvel at in the female form over the years, and yet, none of them come close to the perfection of his wife.

Sansa, with her flat stomach and blossoming hips, her perky breasts and rosy nipples, the way her skin flushes under his gaze, is absolutely breathtaking. What makes her truly perfect, though, is the total innocence that radiates from her. That and the expression on her face, the one that says she trusts him. That she wants him.

_And not because I am paying her to, or because she is trying to extract a favor… she actually wants me._

Sansa smiles and takes two steps forward so she is standing right between his legs. Tyrion reaches out and places his hands on her hips. He can feel her shaking and realizes that despite her confident display, she is terrified.

"You don't have to be afraid," he tells her. "I meant what I said on our wedding day. I won't ever hurt you. If you want to stop, just say the word and we will stop."

"I don't want to stop," she whispers.

"Then why don't we begin," Tyrion offers cheekily reaching for her hand, and pulling her onto the bed with him.

"I'm not sure I know what to do. I don't want to be a disappointment."

Sansa stares down at the bed, and he can tell she is feeling self-conscious.

"You could never disappoint me," he swears.

She glances up briefly, nervously.

"Why don't you lie back, and I'll help you relax? Just let your body react the way it wants to. Don't hold back, and trust your instincts."

Sansa slides into the middle of the bed and lies down, her gorgeous hair fanning out around her.

~Sansa~

Sansa fidgets with the blankets beneath her, clutching them anxiously.

_He's been with so many women… women who's job it is to satisfy men. How can I compare? How can I live up to the standard he's used to?_

Feather light touches on her stomach draw her attention outwards and she looks up to see Tyrion staring down at her in wonderment.

His hands are gentle as they stroke her, causing goose bumps to prickle her skin. He runs one hand upwards, between her breasts, and back down.

Tyrion shifts his position so he can lean down and reach her lips. This time the kiss they share is slow and gentle. The urgency that usually burns within them has calmed, knowing the hunger that feeds it will soon be sated.

His lips are soft, warm, and imploring. She opens her mouth to him and sighs happily when he deepens the kiss.

Tyrion's hands do not remain idle. One of them comes up to firmly cup her right breast. She feels herself leaning into his hand. The heat radiating from him is a balm she didn't know she needed until just now.

His lips move to her neck and he peppers her with kisses, pausing to nip here and there, and making her breath catch. He kisses across her collarbone while his fingers carefully knead her breast and tease her nipple to attention.

Sansa feels a flame flare at her core, igniting a desperate need.

Tyrion's mouth comes down to capture her other nipple, his tongue swirling in expert circles. A moan slips from between her lips and Sansa stiffens momentarily, embarrassed by the sound.

"Don't think, just feel," Tyrion murmurs against her skin.

She relaxes her body again and tries not to focus on anything but the feeling of his fingers on her skin.

Tyrion's hand is on her thigh…  _her upper thigh_. His thumb is tracing circles and dipping between her legs. She bites her lip and shivers, thinking of the possibilities if only he would slide his hand a little higher.

_Oh…_

As if reading her mind his hand slides up, and this time when his thumb dips he's touching her curls. Sansa jerks beneath him, her body knowing exactly what it wants.

Tyrion must know what she wants as well, because he changes his position on the bed. He gently nudges her to spread her legs, looking up for her approval as he does so.

Sansa nods once and parts her legs, allowing him room to climb between them. She closes her eyes, her embarrassment resurfacing with her new, even more exposed, position.

She sucks in a breath when she feels his finger teasing at her entrance, just tracing the edge of her.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't," she sighs, shaking her head.

Needing no further urging, Tyrion slips a finger inside her folds. Sansa's own fingers grasp onto the bedding tighter. In and out he slowly slides, sending her pulse racing. The heat coiling in her belly grows, spreading out throughout the rest of her body.

When she's adjusted to the one digit, he adds another, carefully stretching her. She feels a slight twinge of discomfort, her body discovering previously unknown muscles, but it is covered up almost immediately when Tyrion brings his thumb up and starts massaging…

_Oh, Seven Kingdoms!_

"Tyrion…"

Sansa gasps and turns her head into the pillow as he rubs her most sensitive spot. His thumb swirls in expert circles as his index and middle fingers continue their work.

Heat is spreading out through her arms and legs, radiating down to her toes. There is a rising tension in her belly getting tighter and tighter until finally it bursts.

Sansa cries out, her chest heaving as she tries to gulp down enough air. Tyrion's fingers slow gradually, helping her ride the wave of pleasure pulsing through her.

As she floats back to reality she feels Tyrion withdraw from her and she opens sleepy eyes to look at him.

His expression is somewhere between smugness, waiting for approval… and  _want_. The lust in his eyes as he stares at her like she is the most stunning creature on the planet has a severe effect on Sansa. She can feel her need reigniting.

"I want to touch  _you_ ," she tells him boldly, blushing.

Tyrion hesitates a moment, something flashes across his face but disappears before she can tell what. As soon as it is gone he starts to undress himself.

When he is down to his tunic he pauses again, and this time she can read his hesitation. He looks nervous. Or scared.

_He's afraid of what I'll think._

Sansa sits up abruptly and takes Tyrion's face in her hands. She gives him a slow, reassuring kiss and then takes the hem of his tunic and pulls it over his head.

He looks away as she studies him.

Try as she might to resist, Sansa's gaze is drawn to his protruding manhood. She doesn't have anything to compare it to, but she briefly thinks that if all men's size is dependent on their height than she is quite glad of Tyrion's stature.

_Anything more and I'd never recover._

He isn't the tall knight she always dreamed of, but it doesn't matter because Tyrion is the kindest, bravest man she's ever met. He is nothing but perfect in her eyes.

Sansa runs her long elegant fingers down his chest, smirking when she feels him shiver beneath her touch.

"You're perfect," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss across the top of his shoulder. "My handsome husband."

As she presses closer she can feel his hardness against her belly. Tyrion sighs softly, and her curiosity gets the best of her.

Sansa pulls back a bit and reaches down between them. She traces a finger experimentally along his shaft, and Tyrion's breath hitches. Feeling bolder, Sansa wraps her hand around his length and feels a small surge of pride from the moan it elicits.

Tyrion's hand wraps around hers and helps guide her, showing her what to do. It's only a few moments, right when she gets into a steady rhythm, before he pulls her hand away.

"Lie back," he instructs her once more.

Sansa listens and returns to her previous position, eager to see what comes next.

Tyrion climbs between her legs, pressing forward until she can feel him at her entrance. The pressure in her builds in anticipation, her whole body throbbing along to her heartbeat.

Tyrion slips his fingers into her again, this time with much more ease. His thumb returns to her nub and in no time he has her on the brink of another orgasm.

He pulls his fingers out and presses his shaft against her.

"This is going to hurt," he says softly, "I'm sorry. There's no way around it."

"I'm ready," she insists.

Then he is pressing into her. Sansa gasps in pain as her walls stretch to accommodate him. Tyrion is going slow, easing her through it. Almost all the fire that had been burning in her before has disappeared, and she's left mainly with discomfort.

She groans as he reaches her maidenhead and he pulls back a bit. Tyrion begins kissing her breasts and slips his hand down between them, searching out her sweet spot once again.

After some creative finger work Sansa feels herself adjusting to his girth, and the fire starts to build again. He shifts within her, just a little, in time with the tapping of his thumb against her nub.

Her breathing speeds up, her heart races… she can feel another wave of pleasure getting ready to hit.

"Tyrio — ooh!"

Just as the wave hits her Tyrion thrusts, breaking her maidenhead. Her hand comes up to twine into his hair.

"Ah!"

_Seven Kingdoms does it hurt._

The pain detracts from her pleasure, but the pleasure also eases the pain.

Tyrion is thrusting into her, still seeking his own climax. Sansa gasps with each thrust, from pleasure or pain she can't tell. Everything is muddled together as one.

It doesn't take him long to reach his peak. Tyrion gives one final thrust and she feels his warm seed fill her.

They both lay there spent and panting, glistening with sweat.

Eventually Tyrion finds the strength to roll off of her, and moves to lay his head on the pillow next to hers.

Sansa winces, uncomfortable from the throbbing between her legs. She rolls on her side to face Tyrion and he does the same.

"Sorry," he says, face twisted apologetically. "It's never pleasant for a woman her first time.

"Don't be," she replies, smiling softly. "You did everything you could to help ease the pain… and most of that was  _quite_ pleasant."

"Just wait until next time."

He gives her an exaggerated wink and Sansa bursts into giggles.

"I look forward to it," she says, scooting closer.

Tyrion rolls to lie flat on his back and Sansa curls up to him, resting her head on his bare chest.

Before long they both drift off, each clinging to the other.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope that was worth the wait!  I've only written a few love scenes before this, and never one involving losing virginity, so I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations.  Let me know what you think, I love hearing from you guys!


	20. Departure

~Tyrion~

Tyrion wakes just before daybreak the next morning, a smile on his face before he even opens his eyes. He can feel Sansa snuggled up next to him, her hand resting on his chest. With their departure upon them, he can't help but feel as if everything is finally falling into place.

He reaches his own hand up to grasp hers, and squeezes Sansa's fingers.

"Time to get up," he whispers into her hair. "We have a big day ahead of us."

She starts to protest, stretching sleepily, but freezes mid-stretch and sits straight up.

"We're leaving King's Landing today!" she exclaims, looking down at him with a bright smile.

He chuckles.

"That's right. I trust you aren't  _too_  heartbroken?" he asks sarcastically.

"Oh, devastated actually," Sansa replies, still beaming.

With that she throws the covers back and bounds from the bed.

"Oh."

Tyrion can't help his smirk when Sansa remembers she's still naked. He lets his eyes roam freely over her, quite enjoying the view of her smooth backside.

"Bit brisk in here?" he questions.

Sansa grabs her robe, to Tyrion's dismay, and slips it on.

"Perhaps a little," she replies, turning to face him.

Her cheeks are flushed.

"How are you feeling? After last night?"

"A little sore," Sansa says, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"I'd imagine so, but I meant… you don't regret it?"

She walks around to his side of the bed and leans down over him.

"I've never regretted anything less," she says, giving him a small kiss.

Then she is up and across the room unpacking a simple breakfast of bread and fruit from the basket they prepared last night.

"Come on," Sansa urges, "let's hurry, we don't want to be late!"

Tyrion smiles and climbs out of bed to join her.

Within the hour they have finished breakfast, dressed, and packed up the few belongings they brought to their temporary room.

Sansa wears a very simple gown and traveling cloak, pulling her hair up with the dragon glass comb he gave her. She looks just as beautiful as if she put on a gown spun of gold.

They leave the room, with a notable spring in Sansa's step, and just make it to the front door of the castle when Tywin pops up.

"Tyrion," Tywin commands. "I need to speak with you. In private."

Tyrion looks up at Sansa and sees the concern in her face, but pats her hand reassuringly, and then follows his father to the other side of the hall.

"Has there been a change in plan?" Tyrion asks, hoping not.

"No, you are still to leave this morning, but there have been some new developments on the war front I thought you should know about."

"Kill a few more puppies?"

Tywin gives him a smile that makes Tyrion's skin crawl, and his stomach flop uneasily.

"No," Tywin says, still smiling, "Robb and Catelyn Stark are dead. Them and all their people were massacred during a wedding feast held at the Twins."

Tyrion has to bite his tongue. He glances over his shoulder at Sansa, watching from the distance.

"That seems like quite a dirty tactic," he finally manages.

"Yes, but the best part is it falls on old Walder's head, not mine," Tywin chuckles. "I just wanted to let you know. I thought you would prefer to be the one to tell your wife she is now the sole heir to Winterfell."

"Yes… thank you. Who else knows about this?"

"Very few, but I suspect it'll be all over the Seven Kingdoms before the week is out."

Tyrion nods and looks down at the ground, trying to imagine how he can tell Sansa her family are all dead… because of his family. Sure, Walder Frey pulled the trigger, but there is no doubt in his mind that Tywin loaded the arrow.

"You should get going," Tywin says, suddenly. "Don't waste the daylight."

"Yes, of course."

"And Tyrion? Don't disappoint me at the Rock."

"I'll try my best," Tyrion swears.

"Try better."

Tywin turns on the spot and marches away, leaving Tyrion standing there, his earlier elation completely evaporated. He hears soft footsteps approach him, and turns to find Sansa looking down at him, worried.

"Is everything okay?" she asks.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. Just a few last minute instructions for when we get to Casterly Rock. Are you ready?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, smiling once more.

Tyrion plasters a smile on his own face.

"Good, let's go."

Tyrion and Sansa travel inside a large Lannister carriage. It was decided that, due to the notoriety that surrounds both of them, it is best they remain as out of sight as possible. They have ten guards, in addition to Bronn, accompanying them on horseback.

When they get started on their journey, and finally settled into the carriage, Tyrion ponders over how to break the tragic news to his wife. He watches her from the corner of his eye, as she peeks through the curtains, smile growing brighter with every mile they put between themselves and King's Landing.

_How can I ruin that happiness? What if she turns on me, and decides she hates me?_

"What's wrong?" Sansa questions.

"Oh… just… nothing," he stammers lamely.

"Something."

"I— I just… I am just worried that you won't like the Rock," he says.

"I'm sure I'll love it. I'll be there with you."

Sansa reaches over to take his hand.

_I'll tell her when we stop for the night. Let her have one more happy day. Gods know she's had so few this last year._

They spend the day talking, and planning. Tyrion keeping her focused on their bright future, and all that could be, hoping it will remain a source of hope after he tells her the truth of her family.

When the carriage pulls to a halt at dusk so they can make camp, Tyrion steels himself to tell her. He takes the book she is reading from her, and grasps both of Sansa's hands in his.

"I have to tell you something."

"O—okay," she says, voice unsure.

"I…." he looks into those wide blue eyes… "I love you."

Sansa bites her lip and laughs.

"If I didn't make it clear enough, I love you, too," she says, leaning over to kiss him.

_I'll tell her tomorrow,_  he promises himself.  _One more night without nightmares._

Tomorrow comes and goes, and after days and days of putting it off, Tyrion finds it easier each time to convince himself to wait. Finally, he decides he'll wait until they reach the rock.

_That's really the most sensible thing. Then if she needs time, and doesn't want to see me she can have space, and not be trapped in a confined carriage with me._

 

~Sansa~

Sansa is bored.

They've been travelling for over a week now, and still have almost two more until they reach Casterly Rock. She wishes they could have just taken a boat to Lannisport, but the Lannisters are still worried about Stannis and his remaining ships. They didn't want Tyrion put into a compromising position.

She's already finished the books they brought along. Years of lady training, and poetry reading has made her an exceptionally fast reader.

Sansa glances over at Tyrion. He has a thick ledger in his lap, and is trying to make notes without slopping ink everywhere.

It's not going well; the road is quite bumpy.

Inspiration hits and a sly grin spreads across her face.

She reaches over and takes Tyrion's inkwell, then pops the cork in place.

"I need that," he sighs.

"You're making a mess," she argues, plucking the quill from his hand.

"I'll clean it up."

"How about," she takes the book from his lap, "we both make a mess and  _I'll_ clean it up?"

He arches an eyebrow at her questioningly, but she just drops to the carriage floor on her knees. Sansa's hands fly to Tyrion's trousers and begin work on his belt.

"Oh," he says brightly, understanding dawning.

They've found that having sex in the carriage is practically impossible. There isn't enough room to work with, the road is bumpy, and overall it's just uncomfortable.

Sansa was also a little discouraged to find out that it wasn't just the first time that hurt as she always believed. Her constant soreness has since disappeared, but it is still unpleasant in the beginning. Add that to the inconvenience of the carriage and she had been getting nowhere fast when it came to satisfaction.

They found a way around that though.

Tyrion showed her the many ways they could enjoy themselves without having the proper space for sex. And there was one way she was getting particularly good at.

He's already hard when she reaches in his pants to grasp him. She frees him from his restraints and wets her lips with her tongue.

Tyrion groans, bucking against her hand. She doesn't tease him and make him wait, instead she runs her tongue along his length and then slips his tip into her mouth. She begins bobbing, up and down, slowly at first, but then gaining speed. Each time taking a little bit more of him in.

She sees his fingers tightening on the seat cushions, and swirls her tongue. Sansa can hear his breath catch.

She can tell he is getting close by the way his hips are jumping to meet her.

Sansa relaxes her throat and takes all of him in.

Tyrion gives a guttural cry as he finishes, the warm liquid filling the back of her throat.

When his spasms stop she carefully pulls away, making sure to leave no mess behind as she does so. Then she looks up to meet his eyes and swallows loudly.

"You… are going… to… kill me," he gasps.

She just smiles and refastens his pants.

Sansa climbs back up to sit next to him, and Tyrion grabs for the hem of her skirt. He's got it up to her thigh when the carriage grinds to a halt.

Someone knocks on the door and he growls angrily fixing her gown.

Sansa sighs, frustrated, but opens the door.

"It's a couple hours early to stop, but there is an Inn here," Bronn tells them. "I thought you and the Lady might enjoy a real bed and a fresh meal."

Sansa perks up and looks to Tyrion pleadingly.

"A real bed sounds wonderful," Tyrion replies, giving Sansa a quick wink. "We can stop here for the night."

Bronn offers a hand to Sansa and she gladly takes it, ready to be out of the confining carriage.

Tyrion climbs out after her and takes her hand, leading her towards the quaint Inn.

They just step through the door, the smell of delicious stew surrounding them, when a familiar voice calls their attention.

"Lord Tyrion, Lady Sansa!"

Sansa turns to the voice and is shocked to find Petyr Baelish. He stands up from a small table he'd been eating at and marches over to them.

"Lord Baelish," Sansa says, surprised.

Tyrion says nothing, just stares at the man warily as Petyr takes Sansa's hand.

"My lady, I am so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how you must be feeling."

* * *

**Author's**   **Note:** Who's excited for the premier of Season 4 tonight? I know I am! I wanted to get a chapter up in celebration. Let me know what you think!

Another lovely work by the wonderful [essentialasair](http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/)!


	21. A Little Time

~ Sansa ~

Sansa stares at Lord Baelish, confused.

_My loss?_

"I'm sorry, my Lord, what loss would that be?" she asks.

"Oh my, I… I thought you had heard," he says, looking away uncomfortably. "It would have happened before you left King's Landing."

Sansa looks down at Tyrion, waiting for someone to explain what is going on. Tyrion doesn't look at her; instead he is glaring daggers at Lord Baelish.

"Someone explain!" she demands, surprising not only the two men, but also herself with the forceful outburst.

"My Lady, I am so very sorry to tell you of this," Lord Baelish says earnestly, squeezing her hand, "but I am afraid your mother and brother are dead."

Her heart stops. The air in the room vanishes

"You… must be… mistaken," she insists, fighting to get each word out.

Lord Baelish doesn't say anything; he just stares at her with the expression one would wear when dealing with an uncomprehending child.

Tears stream down her face, and she loses track of what's happening around her. She vaguely registers Tyrion renting a room for the night, and leading her across the in and up a flight of stairs.

He takes her to their quarters for the night, and leads her to sit on a rough spun mattress.

"Sansa, I'm so sorry," Tyrion says from her side.

She looks down at him and sees sadness, remorse… and  _guilt_  on his face.

"You knew, didn't you?" she asks.

He doesn't reply, giving her all the answer she needs.

"How could you not tell me?" she demands, anger biting through her sadness.

"I was going to," he says quietly, not meeting her eyes, "when we reached Casterly Rock."

"Why wait? I should have been in mourning. Not… not trying to figure out the best way to— to fuck in a carriage!"

Her foul language catches him off guard, and looks up in surprise.

"Honestly? I thought that when you found out you wouldn't want anything to do with me because their deaths were at the hand of  _my_ family. I thought I would give a couple more weeks of happiness until we reached the Rock and this news destroyed your world. Then, when you decided you wanted nothing to do with me, you would have all of Casterly Rock to separate us."

Sansa shakes her head in disgust and stands up. She marches across the room, keeping her back turned to him.

"And," he continues, "I was being selfish. I was giving myself a little more time holding your affection before you would turn away from me."

She can hear the truth and the hurt in his words, and she almost turns to go to him, but the pain is still too fresh.

"Sansa, please say something," he begs.

"I— need some air."

Then without so much as a backwards glance she walks out the door, letting it slam behind her. She turns the opposite the way they came and finds stair leading to the back of the Inn. She takes them and slips out the back door.

Once outside she starts walking towards the woods, needing to feel closer to home. Out here she can imagine being outside the walls of Winterfell with her brothers and Arya.

_All gone. They're all gone and I am alone._

Sansa sinks down onto a fallen tree and buries her face in her hands, her sorrow hitting her full force.

_Father is gone. Bran and Rickon are gone, betrayed by Theon. Arya is likely dead. Now, mother and Robb are lost to me as well. The only family I have left is Jon, and that is only if his work on the wall has kept him from this war._

_Jon I hope you are safe, and I am so sorry for all the times I treated you poorly over the years. I was blinded by mother's prejudice. By the gods I swear if we get to see each other again I will make it up to you, brother._

She's not sure how long she sits there, mourning her family, before she looks up only to see night has fallen. Sansa looks around and can make out the lights of the Inn burning through the trees.

She wipes her eyes, and decides she should head back before they send a search party to find her. She stands up and brushes the bark and dirt from her gown.

A loud  _crack_  comes from her left, a branch breaking, and she jumps.

"H—hello?" she calls quietly, fearing it might be some sort of beast stalking her.

A torch blares to life, revealing Petyr Baelish.

"Sorry to startle you, my Lady," he says. "Everyone is out looking for you."

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief.

"I was just on my way back," she insists, voice hoarse from crying.

"Wait, before we head back, I have a proposition I'd like to discuss with you."

 

~ Tyrion ~

Tyrion is pacing back and forth in their room anxiously, waiting for news, when the door finally opens.

"Sansa?"

He turns to find his wife, though his relief is tempered when he sees Littlefinger at her side.

"I found her in the woods," Littlefinger says, giving a small smirk.

"I did not mean to worry you, my Lord," Sansa says, staring at the ground.

Tyrion winces at her formal tone, feeling as if he has been slapped.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish. I won't keep you," Tyrion says dismissively. "I'm sure you want to rest before continuing on your journey back to King's Landing tomorrow."

"Of course, my Lord. Good evening."

Littlefinger retreats closing the door behind him, and Tyrion rushes to Sansa's side, taking her hand.

"Your freezing," he says. "Come sit by the fire."

Sansa obliges and lets him lead her to the roaring fireplace.

"I was worried about you," Tyrion says as she takes a seat.

"I am sorry to have worried you, my Lord."

Tyrion kneels down by her side and takes her hand.

"Please, Sansa, don't. Don't shut me behind a veil of courtesy again. That is so much worse than your anger. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me, but don't ignore me."

Sansa blinks back wetness appearing in her eyes and meets his gaze.

"I don't hate you, Tyrion," she finally says, "but I don't know what I'm feeling right now. Everything is so jumbled. I have so many emotions swirling inside I can't make sense of them. I just need time."

Tyrion feels a small ping of relief that she at least doesn't hate him.

"Of course. I can give you time."

"Thank you. Do you think that…" she pauses.

"Yes?"

"May I sleep by myself tonight?"

Tyrion tells himself this is to be expected, and not to read too much into it, but the sting of rejection still hits him hard.

"I— yes, of course. I'll get myself another room."

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

Feeling the dismissal in her tone, Tyrion stands up and crosses the room slowly, holding out hope she'll change her mind and ask him to stay.

"I love you, Sansa," he says, pausing at the door.

When he doesn't receive a response he leaves feeling even worse than before.

There are no more rooms available, so Tyrion treks out to sleep in the carriage, surprised when he opens the door to find Bronn inside.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"What? You weren't using it," Bronn shrugs, "and I'm sick of sleeping on the ground."

"I suppose there is enough room for both of us," Tyrion sighs. "It's not like I need much space."

"Fight with the missus?" Bronn asks, smirking.

"You have no idea…"

Tyrion launches into his story, telling Bronn of how he held the news of Robb and Catelyn from Sansa and how Petyr Baelish outed him in the middle of the Inn.

"You should have told her straight away," Bronn says, when Tyrion finishes.

"Yes, thank you."

"I mean news of the Starks dying is pretty big. If it hadn't a been Littlefinger, someone else would've spilled the beans before we got to the Rock. Why you out here though?"

"I told you, she asked to be alone."

"Yeah, but it seems to me, she probably needs you now more than ever," Bronn insists.

"I will not impose my company on her against her will," Tyrion argues, curling up on one of the carriage benches. "We'll sort this out, I'm sure. It'll be easier after we reach Casterly Rock."

Bronn snorts but doesn't say anything.

The next morning, Tyrion waits until the last moment before they leave to go and rouse Sansa, wanting to give her as much time as possible alone.

He knocks on her door. Once. Twice. Three times with no response.

Finally he opens it and peeks in.

"Sansa?"

The room is empty.

_Maybe she's already downstairs and I missed her?_

Tyrion spots a piece of paper on the table by the door and picks it up. It's addressed to him.

_Dearest Tyrion,_

_I'm sorry to do this through a letter, but had I told you in person I fear you would not have let me go. Arya is alive. Lord Baelish came across her during his travels and has put her up in a safe location. He is taking me to her._

_I am going to bring her to back Casterly Rock with me. This trip may take a while, as Lord Baelish says we must travel quite a ways North, but I should be at the Rock within two months time with Arya._

_I would have had you accompany me, but Arya would not have trusted seeing so many Lannister Banners descending on her. And, to be honest, I need this time to sort out my feelings. I hope you understand._

_I have to go, Lord Baelish said I shouldn't tell you what we were doing, but I couldn't just leave you in the dark._

_Please forgive me._

_Love,_

_Sansa_

Tyrion reads the letter through twice, positive he misunderstood the first time.

"Bronn!" Tyrion yells, running from the room.

He races downstairs and outside as fast as he can.

"Bronn!"  Tyrion runs over and shoves the letter into Bronn's hand.  "Littlefinger took Sansa," he pants.

Bronn looks over the letter.

"What are the odds he actually has the little Stark girl?" Bronn asks.

"I don't know, but I don't trust him."

"Aye, me either. I don't trust the way he looks at your wife."

"We have to find them."

_I'll find you Sansa._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Please let me know what you think, reviews are always appreciated! (Here's to hoping for more screen time together for our favorite couple tonight!)


	22. Warmth

~ Tyrion ~

Tyrion watches on in quiet desperation as Bronn gathers all their men and sets them to task.

"Lady Sansa has been kidnapped," Bronn explains loudly, "by Lord Petyr Baelish."

This announcement causes quite a stir. Men are on their feet, cursing Baelish, and ready to jump on horseback and start searching without any further goading. Sansa created quite a fan club along their journey, showing a kindness to the men they were not used to from highborn ladies.

"Quiet!" Bronn orders, silencing the outcry. "All we know is that they are headed North, and that could be a lie. So, I want you to break off into five groups of two."

The men pair up quickly.

"Right," Bronn continues, and starts pointing, "you two head east, and you two west just in case. I think we can rule out south, I don't see Littlefinger wanting to take her that close to the capital. Ok, everyone else head north, but take different paths. Someone stick to the King's Road. I doubt Littlefinger would be that stupid, but one can hope."

All the men are nodding, looking eager to start.

"If you find her, head back here and send word to the others. Let's make this happen as quick as possible," Bronn concludes, and then waves the men off.

"What about me?" Tyrion asks.

"I think you ought to wait here."

"No. Unacceptable. I need to be out there looking for her. This is all my fault. If I had told her about her family in the beginning Littlefinger never would have gotten this chance. Please, I need to do something to make this right."

Bronn sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Alright then. You're with me. Grab yourself a horse and let's go, we're heading North."

~ Sansa ~

Sansa's head lolled uncomfortably to one side as she drifted in and out of a restless sleep. She was trying to keep her eyes open, but it was a battle she was losing. She and Lord Baelish had been travelling all night and most of the day only pausing when nature called.

Halfway asleep, Sansa has the sensation that she's falling and jerks awake with a tiny gasp.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Lord Baelish asks.

He felt her jump. Lord Baelish had insisted that they share a horse, saying it would be easier to outrun bandits if they were attacked. Sansa had been reluctant, but agreed. She had never been as good in a saddle as Arya, and Lord Baelish probably knew what was best.

"Yes, thank you. I keep falling asleep."

"Well, we still have a few hours before we can stop, so please, feel free to sleep. You've had a long night," he insists.

Sansa lets her eyes drift closed, and before she knows it she's asleep.

_She dreams of her parents and of Winterfell, of her brothers, and Arya. Sansa can see the smiling faces of her family looking down on her, but a strong wind comes and blows them all away as if they were made of smoke. Sadness surrounds her, it's blackness swallowing her, until, like a light in the darkness, and her sorrow is shooed away. Now Sansa is in bed with Tyrion, his arms wrapped around her as her head rests on his chest._

The horse hits a dip in the path and Sansa wakes up, groggy and a tiny bit confused. When she remembers where she is, that it is Lord Baelish's chest she is leaning into, and his arms wrapped around her to reach the reins, disappointment hits her and the sadness returns.

Sansa sits up straight, her cheeks blushing.

"We're going to stop soon, my lady," Lord Baelish says, and she swears there is amusement in his voice.

The sun is so low in the sky that she can barely make it out through the trees in front of them.

"Are we going to sleep out here in the woods?" she asks, knowing the answer, but fearing it all the same.

"Yes, I'm afraid we left all hopes of an Inn behind when we left the King's Road. This way is much quicker though, I assure you."

Sansa doesn't reply, just nods.

After another thirty minutes of riding the sun is gone completely and they are left relying on the eerie light of the moon.

Lord Baelish halts the horse and dismounts, then reaches up to help Sansa down. He grabs her by the waist and places her on the ground. She's a little surprised at how easy it is for him. Looking at him, Sansa would never think he was very muscular.

A chilly breeze whistles through the trees and Sansa pulls her cloak tighter around herself.

"Can we light a fire?"

"Sorry, my lady, but I don't think that would be wise. These woods are filled with thieves and miscreants, I fear a fire would only alert them to our location," Lord Baelish explains, tethering the horse to a tree. "I came prepared, though."

He turns back to the horse and unlatches one of the saddlebags, then pulls out a bundle of furs and some jerky.

"Here, why don't you eat something while I set up," he says, offering her the jerky.

"Thank you," she says taking it, her stomach growling.

Sansa nibbles on the jerky and rubs the horse's face. It'd been a long day for everyone.

_I wonder how Tyrion is doing? I hope he doesn't hate me._ She shakes her head.  _I'm supposed to be upset with him… aren't I? He lied to me, and hid things from me._

_He did it to protect you,_  a small voice whispers.

_It doesn't matter. Only Arya matters right now. I'll sort things out with Tyrion when I get back._

When she turns around to see how things are coming, hoping she can get some real sleep soon, Sansa is a little surprised to see that Lord Baelish only made one bed from the furs.

He must notice the apprehension on her face.

"Worry not, my lady, I mean no harm. It's just… as you know, winter is coming, and frigid nights with it. Without a fire it would be best if we shared blankets and body heat."

Sansa bites her lip.

She's heard that before. Growing up in Winterfell you learned how to combat hypothermia, and that usually involved stripping and huddling together for warmth. Logically what Lord Baelish is suggesting makes, sense, but she can't shake the  _wrongness_ of it.

_I am most definitely keeping my clothes on_.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "If you are uncomfortable with this I suppose we could risk a small fire—"

"No, no, of course you're right. This will be fine."

She'd rather share blankets with him than risk bringing a band of rapists down upon them.

Lord Baelish smiles brightly and climbs into the makeshift bed. He watches her expectantly, but when Sansa doesn't move he pats the spot beside him.

Shaking off her trepidation Sansa joins him.

She snuggles down into the furs, her body aching from the day's ride.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish," she says quietly. "For taking me to my sister… and for telling me the truth about my mother and brother."

"Please, Sansa, you can call me Petyr. And it is my pleasure to help you. You remind me so much of your mother at your age."

Sansa isn't sure what to say. From the expression on his face, she'd say that Petyr is somewhere far off, perhaps with a young auburn haired Tully girl.

"Goodnight," she says uncomfortably, and turns away from him.

She doesn't see the flash of anger on his face.

~ Tyrion ~

"We need to stop for the night," Bronn calls.

Tyrion ignores him and continues urging his horse forward.

"Oi! I said, we need to stop!"

"We can't stop, I have to find her," Tyrion shouts over his shoulder.

"It's too dark. If you keep going, your horse could trip and throw you. Not to mention the damned things need to rest. Hell, we need to rest too."

Tyrion groans, but lets up on the reins, knowing Bronn is right.

"Sansa's out there… with  _him_. Shae told me that Littlefinger tried to get Sansa to go with him in the past. I don't for one second believe he has Arya Stark. He's lying to her and they are out there  _alone_ ," Tyrion rants.

"Aye, they are, but riding your horse to death won't help matters. Let's grab a couple a hours rest, and set out again as soon as the sun rises."

Tyrion sighs, but nods his agreement.

"We leave at first light."

~ Sansa ~

Sansa is the first to wake the next day, the early morning light shining through the branches and across her face. Her clothes feel damp from sleeping on the ground, but that's not the most uncomfortable feeling she's dealing with.

No, that would be Lord Baelish's hand cupping her breast, and his hardness pressed against her rear.

Sansa throws the covers back and pulls away from him. When she turns to glare at him, he is blinking groggily up at her.

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking around.

"I— you were… your hand was—"

"Oh," he says sheepishly, looking towards his lap. "I'm sorry, Sansa, for give me. I must have been drawn to your warmth in my sleep."

_Not everyone is out to get you,_  the logical part of her brain argues.  _Don't act like such a child_.

"No forgiveness is needed," she says. "Sorry, I was just surprised."

He looks up at her hopefully, and when he sees she isn't still glaring he smiles.

"Well then, let's get ready for the day, we still have a ways to travel."

They eat a small breakfast and before long they are back to traveling. It's colder than it was yesterday, and though the close contact still seems strange to her, Sansa is glad for the close proximity and the warmth of Lord Baelish today.

They stop only when necessary to let the horse rest and stretch their legs, and continue on until nightfall, just like yesterday.

Again Lord Baelish spreads the furs out creating one large bed, and this time she doesn't complain, just climbs in and quickly drifts off, exhausted.

The next day she awakes to find Petyr's hand on her breast again, this time kneading softly. Sansa swallows back her discomfort and gently grasps his hand and moves it away, waking him.

This becomes their daily routine, Sansa becoming less and less fazed by it as the days pass.

_It's not intentional,_  she tries to convince herself.

She's not sure if she actually believes it or not, but it's easier to believe it is all innocent than to worry about being alone with a man who may or may not be molesting you.

One night, about a week and a half into their journey, Sansa is having a wonderful dream.

_Tyrion is lying behind her, kissing along her neck. His fingers dancing over her arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps, as he reaches for her breast. He teases her nipple between his fingers and she moans, pressing her bum against his erection._

Sansa wakes up need coursing through her. Then just as suddenly, it dissipates as if she's been doused with a bucket of cold water.

It had only partially been a dream. The Tyrion part.

Lord Baelish is pinching her nipple through her gown, and grinding himself against her backside.

Sansa feels sick to her stomach. A feeling that only gets worse when she hears him grunt and murmur a name.

" _Catelyn."_

He stills then, his hand still on her breast, and begins snoring loudly.

Sansa carefully throws his arm off of her and scoots as far away as the blankets allow, silent tears streaming down her face.

* * *

**Author's Note** **:**  If anyone is interested, there is some beautiful fan art by essentialasair inspired by chapter 20 just go to

<http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/post/81984414399/you-dont-regret-it-she-walks-around-to-his>

Let me know what you guys think of this chapter!


	23. The Cabin

~Tyrion~

Tyrion is beginning to lose hope that they will ever find Sansa and Littlefinger. They've been travelling aimlessly, searching for a trail, for almost two weeks.

_I don't care how long I have to search. I will tear the seven kingdoms apart looking for her and will not rest until she is in my arms once more._

Tyrion never would have suspected he had anything in common with Robert Baratheon, but in the search for his beloved, Tyrion too would start a war.

_Well, I suppose we also had our love of wine in common… and our love of whores… and our hatred of Cersei… Why didn't Robert and I hang out more?_

Tyrion shakes his head.

"Over here!" Bronn calls, pulling his horse to a stop.

Tyrion directs his own beast over to Bronn.

"What is it?"

"I found some tracks, I think they belong to Littlefinger's horse."

"How can you possibly know that?" Tyrion asks.

"Well, look at it. Right there is an indent of a five-pointed star in the horseshoe. That's the maker's mark of one of the smith's in Kings Landing… one of the expensive smiths. How many other Lords you imagine are running 'round out here off the King's Road?"

A tiny spark of hope flares in Tyrion's chest.

"Also," Bronn continues, "right there in that brush is a bunch of flattened grass. I'd say someone slept there. Two someones. Now, what other Lord, who can afford those horseshoes, has a reason to be roughing it on the ground?"

"Which way do the tracks lead?"

"Northeast," Bronn points.

Tyrion doesn't wait for anything more. He digs his heels into the side of his horse and snaps the reins, taking off and leaving Bronn to catch up.

 

~Sansa~

Sansa hadn't been able to sleep the rest of the night after the dream she had, and then waking up to find she was actually living a nightmare. Even if he had been reaching out to her in his sleep, Petyr's subconscious associating Sansa with her now dead mother, she still felt dirty. Used.

When he wakes the next morning, Lord Baelish says nothing about Sansa's swollen red eyes. She's not sure if she prefers it that way or not.

"Are we almost there?" she asks, voice a bit hoarse.

"As a matter of fact, yes, we are. We should be there by nightfall."

This perks her up.

_I'll be with Arya by dusk._

Sansa's chest aches at the thought. A good ache. The feeling you get from the anticipation of being on the verge of something you've been longing for.

Despite all of their differences, Sansa misses her sister. She can't wait to burst through the doors and rush to Arya, pulling the other girl into her arms.

_After we get to Casterly Rock, we can write Jon. Maybe he can come and visit us. My family may not be what it used to be, but maybe we can make it work. It's what Mother and Father would want. Robb too._

"You have such a beautiful smile."

Sansa didn't even realize that she'd been smiling until Lord Baelish speaks.

"Thank you. I'm just so excited," she says, sobering a bit.

"As am I," he replies with a wink.

They pack up their meager camp and mount the horse, quickly settling into their recent routine.

"Tell me about your time in King's Landing since I left," Petyr requests. "What led to you and your… husband being sent away? And I know it's more than just Lord Tyrion being sent to look after the Rock."

They haven't talked much during their travels, both nervous to make more noise than necessary and drawing unwanted attention, but he must be feeling more at ease so close to their destination.

Sansa tells him about her wedding, and the wedding feast, about Tyrion's outburst against the bedding ceremony, and Joffrey's threats to her. She tells about how things escalated and the scene that unfolded days before they were sent away.

When she gets to the part about Jaime breaking Joffrey's nose, Petyr bursts out laughing so loudly, Sansa nearly topples off the horse.

"Sorry," he apologizes, grabbing and helping right her. "I just wish I had been present for that."

Sansa smirks.

"It  _was_  pretty magical," she says.

The day seems to drag on longer than the others of their journey, and Sansa suspects it is because she is so close to getting what she wants. Her mind is playing tricks on her.

The sun is low in the sky, hidden behind tree branches when they finally reach their destination.

Petyr dismounts the horse, and she moves to follow but he signals her to stay. He keeps hold of the reins and leads the horse through a thick cluster of saplings. Sansa has to duck to avoid hitting her head on the low hanging limbs.

When they make it through, she sees they are in a large clearing. In the middle sits a cozy looking cottage. It's not an average cottage that you would see while traveling in the north. It's a much higher quality than any regular folk could afford to build. Its quaintness is more by design than by necessity.

There are piles and piles of firewood lined up next to it, covered by animal hides to keep it dry and protect it from the dusting of snow that's just started to fall.

Ignoring Lord Baelish, Sansa jumps from the horse. She grabs her skirt, hikes it up so she won't trip, and begins sprinting towards the cabin.

_Arya. Arya. Arya._

She doesn't pause when she reaches the door, she throws it open wide and looks around expectantly.

Sansa is in a darkened sitting room. There is a couch and some chairs aimed at an empty fireplace, and no sign of her sister.

"Arya?" Sansa calls tentatively.

She walks from room to room looking. She finds a tiny kitchen with a small table and woodstove. There is what seems to be an indoor outhouse, and two bedrooms, but no indication Arya is here… or ever was.

When Sansa walks back into the living room she finds Petyr blocking the front door, drying his feet on the mat.

"Where is my sister?" she asks.

"You've tracked snow all over," he chastises, looking at the ground. "Now there will be wet spots."

"Where is my sister?" Sansa repeats, louder this time.

"I don't have the slightest idea," he says simply. "Though if I had to bet, I would say she's dead. I mean no one has heard a thing about her since your father was beheaded. I'd say dead is a safe bet."

Sansa shakes her head frantically.

"I don't understand. Why am I here? Why did you bring me here if not for Arya?"

"I brought you here to protect you. To save you from your horrible marriage."

She keeps shaking her head, tears of disappointment prickling her eyes.

"I didn't need saving. I don't need protecting. I need my sister!" she shouts, marching further into the room.

"I told you, she's probably dead. Just like the rest of your family. It's tragic, I know, but I'm here for you. You aren't alone, Sansa."

"I wasn't alone! I was with Tyrion!"

"Tyrion doesn't care for you the way I do," Petyr says, taking a step towards her.

"He loves me," she protests, "and I love him!"

_What have I done? Why did I leave with him?_

"Tyrion doesn't love you. He's using you for your titles and your claim to the north. And you don't love him. How could you? He's a dwarf. You just think you love him because you are young and you love the pleasure he brings you."

Petyr reaches out to take her hand, but she jerks away and backs towards the fireplace.

"He's had a lot of practice," Petyr concedes, completely ignoring her rebuff and stepping closer. "He's not the only one, though. I own the largest string of whorehouses in Westeros. Do you honestly think that I couldn't please you?"

He brings his hand up to caress her cheek and she cringes under his touch.

"I could show you so many things, Sansa. Things that would have you begging me for more and screaming my name until your voice went hoarse. Things you would crave with every fiber of your being at night and then blush with embarrassment at your brazenness in the light of day."

Her back is against the fireplace, and she has no more room to retreat. Petyr leans in and presses his forehead against hers, his words tumbling out in a breathy, desperate way.

"Just let me show you," he urges.

"Never," she spits.

Sansa uses both hands to push against his chest. He stumbles back and glares at her with such hatred and lust in her eyes she swears he's channeling Joffrey.

"I am not some young boy chasing after the train of your mother's gown!" he shouts. "I will not be denied!"

He lunges at her and Sansa grabs the first thing she sees… the iron fireplace poker. She whips it back and swings as hard as she can.

The poker connects, hitting Lord Baelish in his temple.

He collapses to the ground clutching his head. Sansa can see the blood dripping from between his fingers.

"Ah, you bitch!" he curses, looking up at her. "Now it will  _not_ be pleasant."

He gets on his knees.

"I may have learned the ways of pleasure over the years, but I also know ways to make you beg for a different kind of mercy!"

Sansa lashes out again, this time the poker connects with his arm, knocking him back to the floor.

She doesn't waste any time. Sansa bolts for the door rushing out into the cold, waning light. Snow is falling faster now. She has no clue what to do, or which way to go.

Sansa just knows she needs to hurry because she just heard the cabin door slam behind her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**  I know I am horrible, horrible, horrible for leaving it there. I won't make you guys wait a whole week on the next update, I'll try to have something up Wednesday night! Please let me know what you think! And if any of you are on tumblr, please check me out. My tumblr is allons-ymrholmes and I'll be posting some Sanrion edits throughout the week, as well as one or two of Sansa an Petyr based off this chapter. I tag all posts related to this fic 'wolf in the lion's den'

Again, review! I wanna hear what you think!


	24. A Passing Storm

~Sansa~

The wind is growing stronger by the second, whipping and whooshing, stinging Sansa's cheeks. The true northerner in her flares up, a warning chiming in her head that she can't stay out in this weather… a storm is moving in.

Her more immediate concern is not the weather, though, but the angry man chasing behind her, calling her name.

"Sansa! There is nowhere to go!" Petyr calls.

She chances a glance back at him and sees that while he is hobbling a bit, he is still gaining on her. The clearing is covered in a layer of snow, illuminated by the rising moon. Her only hope is to make it to the dark tree line before he catches her, then maybe she can lose him in the woods.

The trees to the right of the cabin are closest, so Sansa veers her course and sprints towards them.

She's so close.

That's when her foot catches, the heel of her shoe snags on a hole or a root. It sends her tumbling to the ground, landing hard on her stomach. The fireplace poker slips just out of reach.

"Sansa!"

Petyr is on her, grabbing for her waist.

"No!" she screams, fighting to get away. "No!"

She digs her heel into the ground, trying to find purchase and push herself forward.

_If I can just reach,_ she thinks desperately, scrambling for the poker.

Her fingers graze the end of the weapon, but Petyr drags her back before she can grab hold and she cries out in frustration.

He grabs her shoulder and flips her so Sansa is lying on her back. Petyr's eyes are deranged, and blood is caking the side of his face where she struck him. He climbs on top of her, trying to pin her.

"Let me go!" she pleads, trying to knock him off.

"This would be so much easier if you just got up and walked with me back to the cabin," he grunts.

Sansa doesn't respond, just continues trying to buck him off of her.

"Fine. We'll do it the hard way."

Petyr wraps his hands around her neck and starts squeezing, cutting off her air. Her eyes widen and start to prickle. Sansa claws at his fingers, but it's as if he doesn't notice.

"I'll see you when you wake up, my dear," he growls.

Her vision begins to blur around the edges. Her heart is pounding in her ears, and beyond that it's as if the world has went silent. The wind has ceased.

Sansa stares up at Petyr, begging him to have mercy.

Blackness is threatening her and she can just make out the sound of birdsong...

 

~Tyrion~

"It's getting too dark, we need to stop," Bronn insists, pulling his horse to a halt.

"Just a bit further," Tyrion urges, stopping as well. "We're close… I can feel it."

"Can you not smell that? That's a storm moving in. We need to bunker down, and soon."

Bronn dismounts and begins unlatching saddlebags. He starts pulling out furs and other supplies to make camp. After he dumps everything into a pile on the ground he leads his horse over to a tree to secure it.

Tyrion hesitates, seriously considering abandoning Bronn and continuing.

"You're no use to her if you're dead," Bronn says.

Tyrion sighs, knowing the sellsword is right. Then as he is getting ready to dismount, he hears it. Shouting in the distance.

" _Sansa!_ "

" _No! No!_ "

Bronn's head snaps up and he meets Tyrion's gaze.

"Aye," he says, "I heard it too."

Tyrion doesn't hesitate, doesn't wait for Bronn, he snaps the reins and pushes his horse forward, toward the shouting.

" _Ah!"_

_What if I've made it all this way only to be seconds too late?_

"Faster,  _faster,_ " he urges.

" _Let me go!"_

The cry comes from just up ahead, but the trees are too thick and he can't find a way through.

"Damn it!" he curses, turning the beast to run along the thick line of trees.

The opening is so small Tyrion almost misses it. He pulls the reigns back and the horse rears, almost sending him flying off. They back up and Tyrion carefully maneuvers them through the small pathway.

He finds himself in a vast clearing, with a cottage right in front of him. Tyrion scans the area.

To the left of the cabin he sees two figures wrestling. The one on top is strangling the other.

_Littlefinger._

 

~Sansa~

Above her, Petyr's eyes go wide in shock. His fingers lose their grip on her neck and Sansa sucks in a huge gasping breath.

When she looks down she understands why he let go. There is the enormous blade of a sword protruding from Petyr's chest, blood gushing from the wound.

Suddenly his weight is gone from Sansa; the wielder of the sword pulls the weapon back, sending Petyr falling to the side.

When she meets the gaze of her savior, fear paralyzes every muscle in her body… she's staring into the icy blue eyes of a white walker.

That hadn't been birdsong she heard, but the cawing of crows warning the arrival of this dark monster.

_The storm had arrived._

The white walker opened its mouth and sneered at her with jagged teeth, then raised its bloodstained blade high in the air above her. She clenches her eyes shut, her mind jumping to a comforting image.

_Tyrion._

"Sansa! Look out!"

Sansa's eyes pop back open and she cranks her head towards the voice.

_Tyrion!_

Tyrion is on a horse galloping towards her and the white walker from across the clearing.

"Watch out!" he commands her.

Sansa reacts instantly, curling herself into a ball and shielding her head with her arms. She risks peeking to see what's happening and cringes as the horse races towards her.

At the last second the beast leaps into the air, jumps over Sansa, and completely misses her. She sits up and sees the white walker was sent flailing backwards away from her.

It gives a blood-curdling screech and shifts its attention to Tyrion and the horse.

Sansa watches on in horror as the white walker charges Tyrion. The horse startles and bucks, sending Tyrion toppling off the side.

"Tyrion!" Sansa scrambles to her feet, ready to rush to his side.

"I'm fine, stay back!" he insists, standing up.

The white walker screeches again and plunges its sword into the neck of the frightened horse, then pushes the steed aside as if it is nothing.

Tyrion unsheathes his sword and shouts at the walker, drawing its attention.

"Come on then!" he yells. "Sansa, run!"

She can't get her feet to move.

_I can't just leave him!_

The white walker charges at Tyrion, its sword arcing through the air and coming down in a loud clang against Tyrion's blade.

"Sansa, go! I can't distract it for long!" he shouts through gritted teeth.

"I won't leave you!"

"Just  _go_!"

Sansa looks around frantically, searching for some kind of weapon. The only thing she finds is the fireplace poker, and she knows that won't be any use against the creature. She wracks her brain, trying to remember Old Nan's stories.

_What kills a white walker?_

_Fire._

The creature screams again and pushes forward, knocking Tyrion back. He lands on his back and is straining with all his might to push the walker's blade away with his own.

_I don't have time to build a fire!_

_Their only other weakness…_

Sansa doesn't even pause; she begins running towards Tyrion and the white walker. She reaches up and pulls the comb Tyrion gave her shortly after they married… the obsidian one made from dragonglass.

She gives an involuntary war cry as she launches herself at the creature, jumping on its back. The white walker hisses and tries to shake her off, but Sansa has her arms firmly wrapped around the thing's neck. With all of her strength she plunges the comb into its throat.

The sound it makes is deafening, reverberating through Sansa's chest and to her very core. Its scaly skin begins to ice over and the whole thing freezes beneath her.

She finally lets go and lands on the ground just a couple feet from Tyrion as the white walker shatters into thousands of ice shards.

Sansa and Tyrion both stare at the spot the white walker fell, now just a pile of ice chips with the obsidian comb resting on top.

Sansa is the first one to come to her senses and she throws herself at Tyrion. He wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tightly, but his gaze is still fixed over her shoulder.

"You… just killed… a white walker," he says, slightly out of breath and completely disbelievingly.

"You were in danger," she says, holding him tighter.

He doesn't say anything more, and just buries his face in her neck.

 

~Bronn~

He never would've believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

_Hell, I'm still not sure I believe it,_  he thinks, staring into the flames of the fireplace.

Bronn had followed the shouts, same as Tyrion, just slower. His horse had already been tethered and his fingers shook as he raced to undo the knot.

He made it into the clearing just in time to the girl charge that white walker. She tackled the bloody beast.

Bronn stood on and watched in shock as this little highborn lady rode that thing like a bucking horse and buried a hair comb in its neck. Then, the most surprising part…

_It had bloody worked._

When Bronn finally regained his sense of reality he hurried to the clinging married couple and urged them to get on their damned feet.

"There could be more!" he exclaimed.

"I don't think so," Tyrion said, standing up and pulling Sansa with him. "That was just a scout."

"How do you know?"

"The markings it wore. I read about them," Tyrion shrugged.

"I still say we get out of here."

"We're safe now," Sansa interrupted. "Can't you feel it in the air? The storm that was coming, that was it. The walker brought it with him. You can feel it, we are safe for now."

Bronn still wanted to head south immediately, but, as he had just told Tyrion twenty minutes ago, it wouldn't be safe to travel at night, they decided to spend the night at the cabin.

Bronn groans, leans further into the little couch, and takes another large gulp of wine.

_At least Littlefinger kept this place stocked._

He shakes his head again, thinking of Sansa.

_Tyrion's got his work cut out for him._

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've been pretty excited to get to this chapter, and can't wait to hear what you guys think! Next update will be on Sunday as usual.


	25. Taking Control

~Tyrion~

Tyrion and Sansa excused themselves from Bronn once they got situated into the cabin, heading to one of the bedrooms to talk.

Sansa walks to the far side of the room and stares out the window, her back to him.

"What was it doing here?" she asks. "How did it get past the wall?"

"Like I told Bronn, it was a scout. It was probably sent to observe, and gather information. They're a lot cleverer than one would expect, being reanimated corpses and all. Perhaps it climbed the wall, or found a hidden pass."

"Things are about to get a lot worse, aren't they?" she questions, glancing nervously over her shoulder at him.

"I could lie to you, and tell you that everything is going to be just fine, but I won't. This is not the time for pretty falsehoods. Yes, things are about to get a lot worse."

"Are  _we_?"

"About to get a lot worse?" he tries to clarify, confused.

"Yes."

"Why would you ask that?"

"Aren't you mad at me for running off with Lord Baelish?"

"I want to be," he says honestly, "but no, I'm not mad. I understand why you did it. You thought he had your sister… and you were— are mad at me."

"Were. I'm not mad any more," she says, turning around.

"You aren't?"

"No, of course not. I'm frustrated you didn't tell me about my mother and brother right away, but I understand it. If I were in your place, I might have done the same." She sighs, "besides, anger can never lead to anything good. Look at Petyr… he spent his whole life angry at my mother for not loving him, and look what it got him."

Tyrion crosses the room and takes Sansa's hands.

"I've missed you," he says quietly.

"I've missed you, too."

Sansa kneels down to give Tyrion a kiss. Her lips are warm and soft against his, and he wants nothing more than to forget everything but those lips for the next few hours, but he turns his head away and stares at the ground.

"You  _are_  mad at me," she accuses, pulling her hands away.

She leaves him standing there and she slumps down on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, looking hurt.

"No, I'm not. It's just… you killed that white walker!"

"Was that a bad thing?" she scoffs. "Would you rather I had let it kill you?"

"That's not what I meant. I am so very thankful of what you did. You were amazing and more courageous than most men I've ever met. I meant… just… that you shouldn't had to have done that! I'm your husband! I should have saved  _your_  life. I will never be the heroic savior you deserve."

Sansa stares at him, her lips parted, confusion and annoyance clouding her features.

"You stupid man," she finally says.

_I've been called a lot of things, but I honestly think that is the first time I've been called stupid._

"You must be blind," she continues, climbing off the bed and coming to kneel in front of him again. "You have  _already_ saved my life."

"In what way?"

"Every way."

"Sansa—"

"I mean it," she interrupts. "Remember, this is no time for pretty falsehoods. You are everything to me, and have saved my life just by being in it."

This time Tyrion kisses  _her_. He places his hands gently on her face and pulls her lips down to meet his. He parts open his mouth and darts his tongue out to trace her bottom lip.

The flickering flame always lapping away at him when in Sansa's presence bursts into a roar, claiming and consuming him.

"Please," she whispers against his lips, her hand now grasping at his shirt.

Tyrion needs no more encouragement. His fingers are quick from years of practice, undoing the fastenings of her gown in mere seconds.

Sansa grins at him, pulls back to shrug her gown off, and tugs her slip over her head. Then it is her turn to undo the buttons and clasps on the clothing concealing her husband.

Tyrion's heart races; there were so many moments during his search that he feared he'd never see Sansa again, and yet her she is, standing before him in all her glory, beckoning him forward.

Sansa pulls him onto the bed with her, and unlike the first night they gave themselves to each other, tonight it is he who is urged to lie flat on his back.

Tyrion obliges, moving to the center of the bed, and sucks in a breath through his teeth when he feels her fingers teasing along his thigh. Sansa lies next to him and runs her hands slowly across his chest.

He watches her face, framed by glowing hair, the torchlight playing off of her red locks making it her blaze like the sun. Her eyes are fixed on the patterns she's tracing on his body, wearing an expression of wonder and contentment.

Tyrion has never felt so complete.

Sansa bows her head down over his, her hair falling and tickling his face, and kisses him. She is all teeth and playfulness, nipping at his bottom lip and then shifting to nibble his ear.

Tyrion's hand comes up of its own accord and wraps in her beautiful hair, pulling her closer. Sansa grabs his wrist and pushes his hand away, moving her attention downward.

She kisses and nips the hollow of his throat, then traces her tongue and hands along his torso, as if she is trying to memorize every inch of him. Again he reaches out for her and she steers his hand away.

It is then that he realizes she wants to be in complete control. So he lets her. He stops reaching for her and he glances up, catching her eye, and gives her a look that says, " _I am completely yours."_

Sansa smiles mischievously, and Tyrion loses all coherent thought as her delicate fingers wrap firmly around his protruding manhood.

Her movements are taunting at first, eliciting murmured pleading and stifled groans from his lips. Then she slides down on the bed and hovers her angelic mouth just centimeters above his tip. Tyrion can feel her breath washing over him.

He groans louder and bucks his hips upward, unable to resist.

She giggles and closes the distance. Licking her lips Sansa then takes him into her mouth. She traces her tongue along his shaft and displays the technique she worked hard on perfecting during their time spent in the carriage.

Tyrion's hands twist the fabric of the bedspread beneath him. He longs to reach out and touch her, but resists, wanting to give her the control she is craving.

He feels himself getting closer and closer to completion, and his whole body starts to stiffen.

Sansa stops. She gives him a moment cool down, and then she climbs on top of him.

Sansa bends down to give him a lingering kiss, but then sits back up and focuses on what she is doing. She grabs hold of his member and positions him at her entrance, then, ever so slowly, she lowers herself down on top of him.

Tyrion can feel her stretching to accommodate him. She's biting her lower lip and he can't tell if it is in pain or concentration.

She pauses once he is completely in, letting her body get used to this new position. 

He doesn't say anything, letting her adjust. Instead he just enjoys the silky warmth enveloping him.

Eventually she starts to move, slowly and experimentally at first. She slides up and down, and then tries rocking her hips back and forth, all of it drawing moans and gasps from Tyrion.

_There is something undeniably sexy in her uncertainty and novice method._

Sansa leans down a bit, her breasts tantalizingly close to his face, as she rocks forward.

"Oh!" she gasps, pausing.

She tries the movement again and sucks in a sharp breath.

 _Seven hells, this woman is going to kill me_ , he thinks, focusing on lasting.

Faster and harder she rocks her hips forward. Her hand seeks his out and pulls it up to place it on her breast. Tyrion's fingers knead the supple flesh, and trace circles around her nipple, glad to have permission to touch her at last.

Sansa's breathing is coming in faster, shallow gasps, her thrusts becoming more haphazard, losing their rhythm.

"T-Tyrion!" she moans.

He feels himself come undone as her walls tighten around him, and he gives a guttural cry as he spills himself inside her.

Sansa collapses on top of him, her skin glistening with sweat and sticking to his own slick torso. After a few moments she manages to roll to the side, and fumbles to hold his hand, her breathing still sharp and uneven.

 

~Sansa~

She's not sure how long she lies there, clutching Tyrion's hand, waiting to catch her breath. What Sansa does know, though, is that she truly needed that.

_Not just the release, which was spectacular, but the control._

Ever since she first arrived in King's Landing she's had people pawing at her, demanding her charms. Joffrey, those men from the angry mob, Lord Baelish… all of them demanding what she didn't want to give.

Then there was Tyrion, her gentle, patient, husband.

He's never made any demands of her. Tyrion has always been clear that every aspect of their physical relationship has been up to her. And tonight she really needed to test that… to feel that control. To remind herself that it is  _her_  body to do with as  _she_ pleases.

When her breathing finally returns to normal, Sansa feels like a new person. Like a weight has been lifted.

She rolls on her side and kisses Tyrion on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"I really didn't do anything," he says, humor in his tone.

"I know. Thank you."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry the update was a bit late. Sunday was the 7th anniversary of my first date with my husband and I was a bit sidetracked all day :) Hope the wait was worth it! Thank you for all your lovely reviews last chapter, I was very nervous about the white walker part because it is a  _bit_  out there, but I really wanted to show Sansa taking down what is essentially the boogeyman of Westeros and not thinking twice about it because it meant protecting Tyrion. (and I just love getting to say little-bird-proper-lady-Sansa killed a white walker with a hair comb)

As always, please let me know what you think!


	26. The King's Road

~Sansa~

The dawn light streams into the room, the rising sun waking both Tyrion and Sansa. They roll on their sides to face one another, both of them breaking into tentative smiles.

"I thought I must have dreamed last night," Tyrion says, running his hand down her arm, as if he is testing her solidity.

"If that was a dream, I think I'd quit like to go back to sleep for another like it," Sansa replies.

Tyrion closes the distance between them and kisses her deeply.

"Perhaps I'm still dreaming," she murmurs against his lips.

A firm knock on the door pulls them apart.

"We need to get on the move!" Bronn calls from behind the door. "Stop wasting daylight, you can shag at the Rock."

Sansa blushes brightly, and Tyrion groans, glaring at the door.

"We must be awake," he sighs, "only the gods would be this cruel. My mind would never betray me like this."

Sansa giggles softly and throws the blankets back.

"Come along husband," she says, sighing. "The sooner we 'stop wasting daylight' the sooner we can 'shag at the Rock.'"

Tyrion jumps out of bed.

"It's rather sexy when  _you_ say it," he says.

Sansa just giggles louder.

The cabin has all the supplies they cold possibly need. Lord Baelish had the place well stocked for winter, and Sansa wonders if he intended to keep her here for when he wished to visit, or if he was going to have them both holed up here for the winter.

_I guess I'll never know… something to be grateful for indeed._

Sansa, Tyrion, and Bronn all work together packing for the journey. They stuff their packs with all the things that they will need; dried meats, dried fruits, cheese, hearty bread, furs for fresh bed rolls, and of course the men pack ale.

Bronn prepares the horses. With the loss of Tyrion's horse to the white walker, that just leaves Bronn's and the one Sansa and Petyr rode. Bronn puts Tyrion's special made saddle on Baelish's horse, and before long they are setting out.

Sansa rides sitting behind Tyrion, wrapping her arms around his waist, and reveling in the newfound hope surging within her.

_I haven't felt like this since… since I thought Arya was alive and waiting for me._

Her mood dampens, and she tightens her grip on Tyrion.

"Do you think Arya is still alive?" Sansa finally asks, after a few hours of silent travel.

Tyrion is quiet for a long moment before answering.

"I want to reassure you that she is out there, she was— is— a tough girl, but I also don't want to give you false hope," he says, his voice regretful. "There is a chance, but I fear it is slim. The odds of her being out there,  _and_  you finding her, are one in a million."

"And that's being generous," Bronn calls over his shoulder.

If it were anyone else, Sansa would be annoyed by the addition, but she's starting to get used to the sellsword's brash, no nonsense attitude. In a way he even reminds her of Arya's appalling manners.

"You mean like the odds of a full fledged white walker scout making it past the wall, travelling this far south, and being defeated by a hair comb?" she asks cheekily, more for Bronn's benefit than Tyrion's.

Bronn shrugs.

"Yeah, something like that. Now would you two stop flapping your faces? I'd rather not draw attention to ourselves until we make it back to the King's Road."

Sansa sighs, but doesn't respond, instead leaning down to rest her chin on Tyrion's shoulder.

They travel until the sun starts to set and then stop to make camp. Sansa feeds the horses and rubs them down while the men set up camp.

After a quick supper they all climb into their bedrolls. Sansa and Tyrion cuddle together, more for comfort than warmth, and she's asleep before long.

The next morning they set out at first light, and Sansa wonders if she'll ever sleep in again.

"How long will it take us to reach the Rock?" she asks after they set out.

"A month, maybe a little less," Tyrion answers. "Hopefully we'll make good time once we get back to the King's Road."

It takes them five and a half days to reach the King's Road, and Sansa could cry with relief when they do. So many nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground is starting to take its toll, especially when combined with the time spent on a horse.

She's never really been athletic or outdoorsy, and her body isn't handling their trip as well as she wishes it would. Her back and thighs ache and Sansa is holding out hope they'll come across an inn to sleep in for the night.

"I've been here before," Bronn tells them, after a short time travelling along the King's Road.

"Please tell me there are some real sleeping accommodations coming up," Sansa groans.

"There should be, as long as bandits haven't overrun it. This war has had the country in chaos, perfect opportunity to start raiding pubs and inns."

 

~Tyrion~

Unfortunately, their first night travelling along the King's Road they don't find an inn. Sansa's disappointment is almost palpable, and Tyrion wishes there was something he could do.

The next day they come across an inn around midday, and Tyrion suggests they stop and stay the night. Bronn argues its too early to stop, and Sansa insists she's fine, but Tyrion can see the travel is wearing her down and he insists they stay.

The sleeping arrangements do them all good and leave them feeling refreshed when they continue their journey, which is great because it takes another three nights before they come across another inn.

There are a few hours of daylight left when they find it, but its close enough to nightfall no one argues against stopping for the night. They direct their horses towards the inn and are about three hundred yards out when they hear a woman screaming.

Bronn grumbles, but urges his horse forward.

Tyrion pulls up on the reigns, wanting to help, but refusing to put Sansa in danger. They can hear a scuffle and shouting from inside the building, then what sounds like a cry of pain.

Bronn is off his horse and striding towards the front door, drawing his sword, when the door bursts open and a man comes stumbling out. The man opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except for a gurgle and a splattering of blood. He collapses to his knees and then falls down, dead.

Behind him, Tyrion hears Sansa gasp and clamp a hand over her mouth.

"Fuck the King," and angry voice spits from the doorway. "Where's my chicken?"

"Show yourself!" Bronn calls at the darkened doorframe.

A giant of a man steps into the waning light of day, glowering out at them, and Tyrion recognizes him instantly.

"The Hound," he whispers, and feels Sansa jerk in surprise, leaning around him to get a better look.

"You had best keep riding unless you want a sword through your face as well," the Hound says menacingly.

When he spots Tyrion, he steps outside squinting, studying him.

_He's not looking at me,_  Tyrion realizes, feeling a surge of protectiveness flare in his chest.

"Little bird," the Hound says quietly, softer than Tyrion's ever heard the man speak.

Sansa loosens her hold on Tyrion and kicks her leg over the side of the horse before dropping to the ground.

"Sansa," Tyrion says warningly, fumbling to release himself from his saddle.

"What are you doing way out here, little bird?" the Hound asks. "It's not safe. Shouldn't you be in a cage somewhere?"

"We were on our way to Casterly Rock," she answers, "and got sidetracked."

"Why the Rock? Seems like our cunt King would want to keep his prized bride close."

"Our engagement was called off. I'm married to Lord Tyrion now."

The Hound snorts in derision and then starts laughing.

"I warned you life was not a song, little bird. You should have run when you had the chance, maybe you wouldn't be being punished now."

Tyrion bristles, not from the insinuated insult, he's used to those, but from the too familiar way the Hound seems to be speaking with Sansa. Yet, it doesn't seem to bother her. Her demeanor, the way she's standing, watching him, and even her voice just hints that she is curious.

"I'm not being punished anymore," she says, tone becoming heated. "Not by my marriage at least."

The Hound's eyes become calculating as he studies Sansa, looking for signs of deception or duress. Finding none he flips his gaze to Tyrion, studying the protective expression on his face.

"In that case, I have a proposition for you, Lannister. Maybe you can save me a trip to the Eyrie," the Hound says, beaming. "How much do you love your wife?"

"More than can be measured," Tyrion responds, almost automatically.

"Why don't you give it a shot?"

"Give what a shot?"

"Measuring your love… let's start with Gold Dragons."

* * *

**Author's Note:**  Sorry for the delay, two in as many weeks, I know, I'm horrible.  I had a friend visiting from out of state, then Monday I had the update finished, but we had a pretty terrible thunderstorm and our power was out.  I'm up and running now, though, and would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.  It's a little slow, and kind of a filler piece, but we still have some excitement ahead!  (PS *show spoilers* can I just say how sad I am for our poor baby Tyrion right now?? Damn that whore!)    

This gorgeous piece is from the lovely [essentialasair](http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/)!


	27. Ten Thousand Gold Dragons

~Tyrion~

"What are you getting at?" Tyrion asks.

The Hound stares at them, eyes flicking from Tyrion, to Bronn, and finally coming to rest on Sansa. He sighs and jerks his head towards the building behind him, then turns and walks back inside the inn.

Tyrion dismounts his horse and rushes to catch up to Sansa who is already striding to the inn. He grabs her hand and pulls her to a stop, when she looks down to question him he just shakes his head and points to Bronn.

_Best the sellsword go first if this is some sort of trap._

Bronn sighs and marches in. After a moment he waves Sansa and Tyrion follow.

_Not a trap then._

Sansa pulls Tyrion along behind her, and he can tell she eager to find out what the Hound is being so enigmatic about.

When they step over the threshold of the inn, Sansa gasps and drops Tyrion's hand, reaching up to cover her face.

There, sitting at a table on the far side of the room, dressed as a boy, is Arya Stark.

"Arya?" Sansa asks, voice cracking.

Tyrion looks up to see tears already streaming down her face. She takes a tentative step forward, unsure whether to trust her own eyes.

"Sansa!"

Arya jumps to her feet, sending the stool she is on clattering to the ground. The girl races around the table, only to be scooped up by the Hound before she can get any closer to them.

Sansa reaches out for her sister, taking another step forward, but Bronn throws his arm up to keep her back.

"So, Lannister," the Hound booms, smirking, "about those dragons?"

Sansa's head snaps around to look at him, eyes pleading, as if he needed any encouragement.

"Yes, of course," Tyrion says, "whatever you want. Name your price."

"I want ten thousand."

Tyrion clears his throat and kicks at the dirt littering the floor.

"I don't exactly travel around with thousands of gold pieces on me."

"Go get it. We can meet back here in a months time and trade," the Hound offers.

Arya squirms against his hold on her, trying to wiggle free. Tyrion wonders how she's been treated, and if she could make it another month in the company of this beast.

"You're wanted," Tyrion comments. "There is a large bounty on your head."

"And I will crush  _her_ head if we can't come to an agreement."

"No, no, you misunderstand me. What I'm saying is, you aren't safe here in Westeros any more. Sure, sure, you can protect yourself, you're a big strong, ball of manliness and muscle… but you will tire eventually. Tire of looking over your shoulder every day and sleeping with one eye open."

"Where's this going, Lannister?" the Hound huffs, tightening his hold on Arya.

"It's where  _we're_  going that matters. Travel with us to Casterly Rock. Come with us, bring the girl and save us another long journey. If you do this, not only will I pay you your ten thousand gold dragons when we arrive, but I will put you on a ship in Lannisport that will give you safe crossing to Essos."

"How do I know you won't have this one," the Hound points at Bronn, "try to slit my throat during the journey? Or that you won't have a brigade of Lannister soldiers descend on me the moment we arrive?"

"I'm a Lannister. We always pay our debts. You are giving me, giving my wife, something almost beyond measure. I  _will_  see that you get your payment."

The Hound mulls this over. Sansa is staring at him, eyes begging him to agree as she chews her lower lip.

"Aye," he growls, dropping Arya. "We have a deal."

Arya lands on her hands and knees, but scurries to her feet and then she is racing to her sister.

Sansa laughs in joy throwing her arms open and catching Arya in a fierce hug.

"I thought you were dead!" she cries into her sister's short hair. "I thought I'd lost everyone!"

"I'm sorry!" Arya says, squeezing Sansa, tears now streaming down her face as well. "I'm so sorry we were fighting before we were separated."

"No, no, please! It was all my fault… I was so stupid! All of this is my fault! If I hadn't fought with father about leaving King's Landing we might have made it out of there all together."

Tyrion wants to reassure his wife, tell her that no matter what Ned Stark signed his death warrant the moment he threatened Cersei and the Lannister name, but he doesn't want to intrude on this moment.

"Seven hells," the Hound booms, rolling his eyes. "Women."

With that he turns away and stomps over to a grab a roasting chicken from the fire. He rips off a leg and tears into it with appalling manners.

"When do we leave?" the Hound asks, sending chicken flying everywhere.

 

~Sansa~

Sansa and Arya sit next the campfire, the younger girl leaning into her sister's arms. Arya may be a little warrior child, but finding out she's not alone has taken quite the toll on her emotions.

"Is there anyone else left?" Arya asks quietly, staring into the flames.

They'd had to leave the inn. The Hound had made quite a bloody mess of the place and no one thought it was a good idea for them to stay and possibly draw any passing knights down on them. After all, they are now travelling with a wanted criminal.

At the moment they are camping just off of the King's road. Tonight Sansa doesn't care how hard the ground is. All that matters is Arya beside her.

"I don't know," Sansa answers truthfully. "Winterfell was burned to the ground. No one knows what happened to Bran and Rickon. I don't know for sure Jon is alive, but I hold out hope. I'm going to write him when we reach the Rock."

Arya sneers.

"It's better than King's Landing," Sansa says.

"Oh my god."

Arya sits up and twists to stare at Sansa.

"What?"

"You're a Lannister."

Sansa rolls her eyes.

"Well, yes I suppose—"

"No, I mean, you're not  _just_  a Lannister. You're like Lady Lannister. The Lady of Casterly Rock. That just seems so… wrong."

"I'd much rather be Lady of the Rock than Joffrey's queen."

"Yes, definitely," Arya nods. Then she lowers her voice and leans in, "are you alright though? Lord Tyrion hasn't hurt you, has he?"

"No, no, he hasn't hurt me," Sansa says, smiling a little. "If anything he's saved me."

"It sounds like… do you love him?"

"I do. Very much so."

There is a long pause before Arya responds, her expression thoughtful.

"Good. I'm glad you're happy. We need some of that."

Arya gets quiet after that, and settles back against Sansa again. It's not long before the younger girl is sound asleep.

The others are sleeping too. Tyrion and Bronn have their bedrolls spread a little ways away from the girls, trying to give them some privacy.

Sansa zones out, staring into the campfire, listening to the crackling and popping. She startles when a stick breaks on her right, thinking bandits have found them, but when she looks she sees it is only the Hound returning from the woods she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she says, after a long moment of silence.

"For what?" he grunts.

"For keeping my sister safe."

"She ain't worth much dead."

"Thank you anyways," she insists.

"Why didn't you leave with me?" he asks. "Was it because you are afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you. I haven't been for a long time."

"Then why did you stay in King's Landing?"

"Honestly?" Sansa sighs. "I thought Stannis was going to win. He would have sent me back to my family. I didn't see the need to run."

"If you would have come with me you wouldn't be in this mess."

"What mess is that? Having my sister back with me? Being safely away from the King as I am?"

"Married to the imp," he says simply.

"I love him."

"How? You are beautiful and fair, little bird. How can you love such a creature? How can anyone?" his last question is so quiet Sansa barely catches it.

"He is kind, and gentle, and brave. He's never hurt me, or demanded anything from me. He has been patient and let me make my own choices. No one has _ever_  let me make my own choices."

"He is not what little girls dream of."

"I am not a little girl any longer."

"He is also not the handsome knight in the pretty songs you so favor."

Sansa studies the Hound; she can see the confusion on his face, his yearning to understand. She turns back to the fire and thinks over her words carefully before finally replying.

"I write my own songs now."

* * *

**Author's Note:**   Woohoo I actually got this up on Sunday :) (okay, it's  _technically_  monday).  Hope you like our little reunion!  Please review and let me know what you think.  I'm thinking we have another, possibly two, travel chapters ahead of us before we reach the Rock.  Any suggestions or requests of what they encounter on their journey?  I might pluck one or two from the comments.


	28. An Understanding

~Tyrion~

When they all set out the next morning, the air around them hangs with tension, at least between the three men. Sansa and Arya ignore their discomfort and fill the silence with stories and banter, catching each other up.

Arya tells all about her escape from the city and heading to the wall to find Jon. She explains how they were captured by Lannister men and taken to Harrenhal, where Arya was made Lord Tywin's cupbearer.

"He knew I was lying about being low born, but he never found out who I really was," Arya explains, and Tyrion has to fight back laughter.

He wishes he could see his father's face if he knew that Arya Stark had been right under his nose for months. Tyrion almost wants to shake the girl's hand, but decides to stay out of the conversation, not wanting to interrupt the sisters.

Continuing her tale, Arya tells them about the faceless man who helped her escape, and again Tyrion has to resist joining the conversation. He's read a great deal about faceless men and has a lot of questions.

_Perhaps it will be even better having her live with us than I thought. She has had some extraordinary adventures. I wonder if she would tell them to me again, so I can record them? It would be an excellent book._

When Arya gets to the part about the Hound stealing her from the Brotherhood the little girl shoots him a glare, but there is no real heat behind it.

"Other then being a complete arse and a knobhead, travelling with him hasn't been so bad. At least he," Arya nods towards the Hound, "let's me keep my sword. The Brotherhood took all my weapons."

"Have you actually needed to use that thing?" Sansa asks.

"Yes."

"And it was useful? That little thing?" Bronn pipes up, shooting a look over his shoulder at Arya, checking her sword appraisingly.

"Well, since my father was murdered I've killed three men, and two of them with this  _little thing._ "

Sansa gasps.

"Who did you—" the question dies off, and Sansa holds tighter to Tyrion's waist.

"There was a boy in King's Landing who tried to stop me from escaping, a man who helped kill mother and Robb, and then back at that inn was the man who murdered my friend and stole my sword," Arya says, voice becoming cold. "I did what I had to."

The resentment in her voice is far stronger than it should be for any little girl, and Tyrion feels a pang of guilt in his chest, as he always does when he sees first hand the pain his family has caused.

Their trip goes silent, neither girl seeming to know what to say next.

Bronn keeps glancing at Arya and Tyrion can swear he sees respect in the man's eyes.

After a few more miles of silence, Sansa finally speaks up.

"I'm glad you did it. Whatever it took to get you to me, I'm just glad you're here."

 

~Arya~

When they first left the inn, Arya pointed out the extra horses explaining there was no one left alive to miss them, and Sansa could have her own. Instead, though, Sansa insisted on continuing to ride with the dwarf. She claimed she wasn't a very good rider, but Arya has seen her on a horse and knows Sansa is more than capable enough for the type of journey they are making.

She didn't say anything though.

Arya watches her Sansa closely, still wary of the Lannister despite her sisters claims that he is different from the rest.

Sansa doesn't seem like she is being coerced. She seems genuinely affectionate towards her new husband, clinging to him more than necessary, smiling and watching him when she thinks he isn't looking, and just the softness in her eyes when she looks at him.

_I think she really does love him._

After figuring out Sansa was telling the truth about her feelings, Arya switches to watching Lord Tyrion. She needs to be sure he isn't mistreating Sansa. After all, Sansa  _did_  once fancy herself in love with Joffrey.

He seems rather reserved when they first set out. He doesn't say much, and he doesn't return Sansa's little caresses or glances when Arya is clearly watching.

Over the first few days, though, he gradually starts to relax. He starts to talk more, mainly about current politics, or news from King's Landing. Arya is particularly interested when he mentions the Targaryen girl across the narrow sea.

"She has real live dragons?" Arya asks one night as they sit around their campfire.

"Three of them," Tyrion answers. "They call her Mother of Dragons, among other things. Her title is getting ridiculously out of hand if you ask me."

"Where did she get them?"

Arya leans forward on the log she's sitting on, completely unable to fight her curiosity.

"She hatched them. When her husband the great Khal Drogo died Daenerys placed three dragon eggs on his funeral pyre and once it went up in flames she strode into it herself. The fire burned all night, and everyone feared she had killed herself in her grief, but that wasn't so. When dawn came Daenerys strode from the smoky ashes, three dragon hatchlings clinging to her. Their mother."

Arya's eyes are wide as saucers and she stares into the flames of the campfire, imagining seeing the mother of dragons stepping out towards her.

"That's amazing," she whispers. What is she doing now?"

"Building quite an army, I suppose. The general rumor is that she plans to one day retake the iron throne for the Targaryen name. For now she is contenting herself with ending slavery in Essos."

"She sounds wonderful. I hope she does come and take the throne," Arya sighs and then pauses, blushing and looks at Tyrion.

"As of now I am in agreement," he says with a smirk. "Anyone would be better than Joffrey. Just don't tell anyone I said that," he winks.

Arya catches herself smiling back and then quickly looks away.

Tyrion doesn't act as if anything is amiss, instead turning his attention back to Sansa.

Bronn and the Hound are busy gathering wood for the fire, glaring at each other as they come and go, each bringing back a pile bigger than the last the other collected. When Bronn comes back with a particularly big armful and trips, sending logs flying all over the place, the Hound snorts at him.

"I think that's enough  _fetching_  for tonight," Bronn sniffs.

The Hound grumbles something inaudible. Bronn rolls his eyes and pauses for a moment before pulling his flask out.

"Care for some wine?" he asks, and then tosses the flask to the Hound.

The hulking man catches it nimbly in one hand and nods a gruff thanks before downing the entire contents of the flask.

Arya rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

_Men._

She pulls her sword from her belt and starts wiping it down, cleaning it with a piece of fabric ripped from her shirt. Every once in a while when she's sure they don't see her, Arya looks up to watch Tyrion and Sansa.

They keep touching each other. Just small little grazes here and there, but their eyes meeting and shining like they are sharing a silent conversation no one else is part of. Tyrion reaches up to tuck a red lock of hair behind Sansa's ear, his fingers trailing softly down her cheek as he pulls away.

Arya frowns.

When Sansa gets up to go spread out furs for her and Tyrion's camp bed, Tyrion stares after her. The look on his face and the softness in his eyes makes Arya feel guilty when Tyrion turns back and sees her watching. Like she was intruding on a private moment.

She looks down quickly.

 _He does love her_ , she realizes.

"Just… take care of her," Arya says after a moment, looking back up at him. "Treat her like she deserves."

"She deserves the best," he says.

"Yes, she does," Arya replies sternly. "Remember that, or I'll—"

"No need to finish that. I already know you've killed men twice my size."

Arya stares at him and after a moment he shoots her a smile. She tries to stay stern, but his grin is infectious and she finds herself returning it.

Sansa returns to find them both grinning and looks back and forth between the pair.

"What's so funny?" She asks.

"Nothing. Just coming to an understanding with your sister here," Tyrion says, grabbing Sansa's hand and pulling her to sit beside him.

"Is everything all right?" Sansa questions, worry in her voice.

"I think so," Arya says, and then nods. "Yes, I think everything is just fine."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  Hope you are all hanging in there without getting a new episode this week! Hopefully this helps a little :) as always, reviews are always appreciated, and I just have to say thank you so much for all your kind words and support. Tuesday will be the one year anniversary of me starting this fic and I want to give a shout out to those who have toughed it out from the beginning, and to those who have joined us now because you are all awesome.

On a side note, we have some more beautiful artwork from the lovely essentialasair, based off of a scene in chapter 26:

<http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/post/86468905186/a-little-manip-i-made-at-the-weekend-which-was>


	29. Goodbye

~Sansa~

When they finally reach Casterly Rock Sansa can't help but stare at the formidable castle with open-mouthed awe. All of the stories she'd read and all of the songs she'd heard had not properly prepared her for the beauty of the Rock. The castle is carved into the mountain and looms over them, huge, and intimidating.

She feels a little foolish when she sees the look on Arya's face matching her own, realizing she must look like some country beggar, with clothes dirty and torn from the trip, staring up as if she'd never seen a castle before.

She and Tyrion ride at the front of the party now, winding through the streets of Lannisport, heading for the front gates.

"Welcome to your new home," Tyrion says, as the horse approach a large entry tunnel, carved to look like you are riding into a lion's mouth.

"It's so big," Sansa breathes, still trying to take it all in.

"How else would they fit all that Lannister ego in there?" Bronn asks cheekily from somewhere behind them.

"They had to have the roof raised after my father took charge," Tyrion chuckles.

If the gate guards are surprised to see Tyrion, weeks after he was originally due to arrive, they say nothing of it, instead only bowing low and raising the gate to allow them entrance.

The Hound keeps his head down despite wearing a helmet he stole on their journey to hide his face, but no one pays him a second glance.

They ride their horses right up to the entrance of the castle before dismounting, and Sansa rubs her sore backside, already fantasizing about the feather beds surely waiting for them.

The sun is low in the sky and it is almost an acceptable time to turn in, for which she is grateful. Sansa is too tired to play Lady of the Rock today, or possibly ever.

They all dismount and stable boys appear almost out of thin air to take care of their weary horses.

"Spoil them," Sansa tells one of the boys, "they've had a difficult journey."

"Yes, my Lady."

Tyrion sighs loudly staring at the front steps.

"All right, one final matter to handle and then we can all collapse on our asses and not move for a week. Sound good?" Tyrion asks, but continues without waiting for a response. "Follow me."

The group abides.

Tyrion takes lead, followed by Sansa and Arya side by side, with Bronn and the Hound bringing up the rear. He leads them into the castle, and straight off to one side into a large study.

Sansa would love to spend more time examining the entrance hall, but knows she'll have plenty of opportunities in the days to follow.

In the study Tyrion signals everyone to take a seat.

"I'll be right back," he tells them, ducking out of the room without explanation.

"That wasn't at all enigmatic," Bronn remarks sarcastically.

Sansa and Arya sit down on a plush couch in the center of the room, sighing at the softness. Bronn sits down at a large ornate desk and kicks back, resting his muddy boots on the shining mahogany surface, and the Hound continues to stand, pacing the room nervously.

"This place is beautiful," Sansa says, making conversation.

"It's huge," Arya replies, nodding. "Think it has secret tunnels? Ooh, do you think Tyrion would show them to me?"

Arya's excitement is already bounding thinking of the possibilities and Sansa can't help but laugh at the girl's euphoric expression.

After whatever "understanding" Arya and Tyrion had come to, which they still wouldn't tell her about, the two had become much friendlier to one another. The rest of their journey had been filled with the two of them peppering the other with questions.

Arya wanting to know all about the Rock, and wanting details of Tyrion leading the Battle of Blackwater, and Tyrion wanting more details on Arya's travels, such as the faceless man and the Brotherhood.

"He might if you ask nicely," Sansa says, smiling.

"If he won't, we can find 'em together," Bronn pipes up. "I might be pretty interested in exploring the secret tunnels of the Lannister Castle."

Off in the corner the Hound starts mumbling to himself.

"What's with him?" Sansa asks Arya quietly.

"He doesn't like tunnels," she answers just as quiet. "You have to carry a torch."

Before Sansa can reply the door opens back up and Tyrion walks in, a steward behind him.

"Okay, let's wrap this up," Tyrion says, clapping his hands.

He strides over to a large tapestry hanging from the wall, and when he pulls the edge back Sansa sees it is hiding a small vault built into the wall. Tyrion pulls a key from his pocket and slips it into the small lock.

When the vault door swings open Bronn lets out a low whistle and stands up to get a better look. The vault is packed with gold coins.

Tyrion counts out several stacks of coins and sweeps them into a large coin purse. When he finishes he closes the vault, locks it, and returns the key to his pocket.

"Here you are," he says, turning and walking to the Hound, the purse outstretched.

The Hound snatches it up and peeks inside, before grunting.

"Looks about right."

"And as for the other half of our bargain, this is one of my stewards, Jonathan, he will be leading you out to the docks where there is a ship waiting for you to board. It leaves at midnight. By morning you will be out of reach of all those hunting you."

Arya sits up straight, surprised.

"He's leaving already?" she asks.

"I thought it safest to get him passage as soon as possible," Tyrion tells her, then he turns back to the Hound. You should go soon, Jonathan will take you the back way to avoid being seen."

The Hound nods and steps forward to leave, but Arya jumps up from the couch and stands in front of him, blocking his passage.

Sansa stands up as well, and places a hand on Tyrion's shoulder, leading him to the other side of the room. She's not sure what Arya is thinking, but it seems best to give her a little privacy.

"You're leaving then? For good?" Arya asks.

"Aye, probably for good. Fuck this whole country. I don't want to ever come back."

"Well, good," she huffs, crossing her arms. "Glad to be finally rid of you."

"Then we're in agreement," the Hound growls, grimacing down at her. "You've been nuthin' but a right pain in my ass."

"And you're just an ignorant mercenary, no better than a common thief!"

"I didn't hear you complaining about those eggs we stole off that farm when you were starving."

"Well, that's different—" Arya starts.

"Oh, no. You can't pick and choose when to have morals. You're a lying thief too, little wolf."

"I hate you!" she cries, voice cracking.

"I hate you, too," the Hound says quietly.

Then, to probably the surprise of everyone in the room, Arya steps forward and throws her arms around the Hound's waist, burying her face in his stomach.

He stands there, shocked, a horrified expression on his face as he realizes the little girl clinging to him had started to cry.

 

~Arya~

She tried not to cry. She really did. It didn't matter though; try as she might Arya can't control the stream of tears pouring from her as she clings to the bastard who's been trying to ransom her off for months.

All she can think of is how he tried to protect her from seeing what happened to her brother and mother, and how he was the one there with her, telling stories from his youth to help her understand her pain. She didn't realize it at the time, but he was trying to look out for her, in his own weird way.

Arya is also terrified to see him go for another reason. He understands her. He understands her thirst for vengeance, and her need to be the one to kill those that have wronged her. He doesn't judge her, instead sharing in her hatred. Arya saw the looks from Tyrion and Sansa when she told them about her kills. They wouldn't say it, but they thought it was wrong.

Maybe not wrong those men had died, but that she had did it herself.

The Hound understood. And now he was leaving. Forever.

After a very long moment, Arya felt a clumsy hand come down to pat her back awkwardly. She tightened her hold on his waist, not caring at the moment how week it made her look. Another brief pause and then the Hound finally returned her hug, his arms wrapping around her, practically swallowing her whole.

She's not sure how long they stand like that before she finally pulls away and wipes her eyes and nose noisily on her sleeve.

"You should hurry and go," Arya says, voice thick, "Before I change my mind and put you back on my list."

The Hound gives her the smallest smirk.

"Aye, wench, I'm going."

"Goodbye," she whispers.

"Goodbye, little wolf."

Arya watches as the Hound follows Jonathan the steward out of the study, pausing only a moment when Sansa grabs his hand and wishes him safe travels.

Then he's gone, leaving Arya to sadly wonder if it is truly the last she'll see of him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**  Ugh!  Sorry about the crazy delay!  Things have been insane in RL as of late.  I am officially located in Michigan now, instead of Texas, but still waiting to move into our new house as our mortgage company is being a giant a-hole.  (Excuse my ranting, I'm staying with my in-laws (enough of a trial) but they also have really slow internet which puts me on edge)

Anyways, please let me know what you think!  I will try to have another chapter up at normal time on Sunday night, but it could be slightly delayed. I will try though! 


	30. Lullaby

~Sansa~

With the Hound's departure hitting Arya so hard, Sansa decides to see her sister to her new room and help her get settled. Tyrion summons a servant to show them where they are going. He's had Arya put into a bedroom suite just three doors down from his and Sansa's.

Arya's room is decorated in lavish crimson and gold silks and tapestries. The little girl scowls at them, her nose turned up in disgust as a few final tears stream down her unaware face.

"Have a bath tub and hot water brought up, along with lavender oil, and a dinner tray. Something fresh," Sansa tells the servant, slipping into her lady-of-the-house tone sooner than she expected.

"Yes, my Lady," servant agrees, bowing low.

Sansa watches him leave, hoping he will be smart enough to assign a chambermaid to Arya's room.

_Not that she would let one help, stubborn girl._

When she turns back, Sansa finds Arya with her little sword out, hacking away a Lannister Lion banner mounted over the bed.

"Arya!" she scolds. "You can't do that!"

"What?" Arya asks, voice sullen. "Is the Lady of the Rock going to have me flogged?"

Arya plops down onto the edge of the bed, her head hanging low. Sansa sighs softly, knowing her sister is hurting, and takes a seat beside her, wrapping an arm around Arya's tiny shoulders. Shoulders burdened with far too much weight.

"He's going to be fine, you know," Sansa says, squeezing her sister. "He really knows how to take care of himself."

"… yeah… and others," Arya adds quietly.

Sansa pretends not to notice the smaller girl's sniffle.

"It's just—" Arya starts. " It's just that after all the time we spent together, he started to feel like— like family. And if you hadn't noticed we're running on short supply."

"You have more than you think," Sansa says, pulling Arya closer and leaning in to kiss the girl's head.

They sit quietly, clinging to each other, until a knock sounds on the door and a young woman enters carrying a tray of food. Both Sansa's and Arya's stomachs growl audibly when they see the steaming bowls of stew, warm bread, and bowl of fresh fruit.

"Seven hells that smells wonderful," Arya groans, jumping off the bed to grab a bowl of stew.

Sansa is close behind, but unlike Arya who is now slurping her bowl noisily without the use of a spoon, she sits down and slowly enjoys her meal, savoring the fact that it isn't trail food. She's sick of jerky and dried fruit.

Before long there is a trail on manservants coming in, carrying a large copper bathtub and steaming buckets of water.

Sansa moans at the sight of the tub filling.

"Have a bath set up in my chambers as well," she instructs one of the men.

Sansa sprinkles the water with the lavender oil she requested and smiles at the look of anticipation on Arya's face.

Arya can play tomboy and squire all she wants, but she can't fight the allure of a proper lady's bath.

"Do you want me to do your hair?" Sansa asks her.

"No, that's okay," Arya insists. "There isn't much of it. You go settle into your rooms. Enjoy  _your_  bath. "

"Will you be all right?"

"I will be asleep within five minutes of dragging myself from that tub," Arya smirks. "So long as the gaudy colors don't distract me."

Sansa smiles softly and pulls her sister into another hug before wishing her goodnight.

When she gets to her own chambers, Sansa is a little disappointed to see Tyrion is nowhere to be found. At first she wonders if she is just in the wrong room, but the servants arriving with a second bathtub tells her otherwise.

The same woman who served her and Arya's dinner approaches Sansa holding a small decorative jar.

"A gift from Lord Tyrion, my Lady," the maid says, presenting the jar with a bow of her head. "Bath oil."

"Thank you," Sansa says, accepting the gift.

When the last bucket of water is dumped into the tub Sansa dismisses all of the servants and strips, making it out of her clothing in record time. She almost throws her travel clothing into the flames of her fireplace, but figures they would probably make the whole room smell foul.

She spritzes some of the bath oil Tyrion sent her over the water, and climbs into the steaming tub. She sighs dreamily as the warm water envelopes her, and inhales the sharp, sweet, scent of lemon grass, the citrus smell making her nose tingle pleasantly.

After a quick wash of her hair, she leans back in the tub, wetting a washcloth and resting it over her tired eyes.

Sansa isn't sure if she falls asleep, or just doesn't hear his approach, but the next thing she knows Tyrion's hands are on her shoulders, gently massaging her sore muscles.

She smiles and rolls her head to the side, catching his hand between her cheek and her shoulder.

"I was wondering where you were," she says, voice lazy and content.

"I had some things to attend, but I'm all yours now."

Tyrion's voice is low, tapering off as he leans down to her exposed neck and nuzzles his face into the slick tender flesh.

Sansa sucks in a sharp breath, feeling her pulse speed up.

She groans when he pulls away.

"Lean forward," he instructs, taking the washcloth from her eyes.

Sansa obeys eagerly.

She hears the water sloshing and dripping as Tyrion wets the rag and brings it up to meet her back. Sansa rests her forehead on her knees, smiling into her lap as he washes her gently, somewhere during his ministrations forgoing the cloth and instead trailing his fingers across her skin.

She lets herself float away, thinking of nothing, felling nothing but Tyrion's hands.

"Come," he says, and when she looks up he is holding a hand out to her.

She accepts it and climbs out of the tub, the cool chamber air causing her nipples to perk up and goose bumps to prickle her skin.

Tyrion grabs a towel but refuses to hand it over when she reaches for it, instead insisting on walking a circle around her and drying her himself.

When he's done Tyrion leads Sansa to their new bed, an enormous canopy is draped over the top, intricate silver stars are stitched into the midnight blue material that makes Sansa smile when she looks up at it.

She lies down, her legs hanging over the side, and sighs happily, turning her head to smell her clean hair.

"I smell like a giant lemon cake," she giggles.

Tyrion stands next to the bed, by her legs, and places a hand on either knee.

"You do," he says, voice husky. "And now I shall devour you."

He spreads her legs, and scoots her so her bottom is at the very edge of the bed.

"So perfect," he whispers, his warm breath making her squirm; his mouth only inches from her core.

Sansa bites her lip in anticipation and moans when Tyrion finally closes the distance and traces his tongue along her most sensitive area.

With his always-growing expertise, it doesn't take long before Sansa is panting and bucking beneath his mouth. Tyrion, a hand wrapped both of her calves, holds on tight drawing out her pleasure to the very edge of pain and then slowly bringing her back down.

 

~Tyrion~

When he finally pulls away, Sansa is limp and motionless on the bed, twitching slightly as a cool breeze finds its way into their room.

Tyrion leaves her there and strips his own clothes, climbing into the now lukewarm bath water. He gives himself a quick scrub, ridding all the dirt and scent of travel away, and then gets right back out.

He dries himself and puts on a dressing robe before climbing on the bed next to Sansa. Her eyes are closed, the lids fluttering softly. She looks so beautiful and relaxed.

When he shifts on the mattress next to her, she begins to stir.

"Your turn," she mumbles groggily.

He chuckles.

"There will be time for that later. Climb the rest of the way into bed and lie flat on your stomach," he instructs.

It takes her a moment in her sleepy state, but when she complies, Tyrion takes a silver backed brush from his robe pocket and begins to brush out her long, tangled hair.

He sings quietly as he does so, his lullaby carrying her off somewhere far away.

* * *

**Author's Note:**  I swear I didn't forget about you guys, or this story! So sorry for the terrible delay, the last month has been the craziest. I have been working on getting all of our stuff unpacked, several home improvement projects, my husband has been gone for 3 weeks now for work (only 49 to go!) and I've had to adjust to being a 'single' parent. Oh! And my book went on sale today :) I thought I'd celebrate by updating this story. Please forgive me any glaring grammar issues or typos, I am exhausted and really wanted to post this tonight. Hope you are all still with me!

If you are interested in my original work please check out my [website](http://www.ameythistmoreland.com/) for synopsis and where you can get a copy. /end shameless self promotion


	31. Feathers and Feasts

~Tyrion~

When Tyrion wakes in the morning, his first emotion is disappointment. He'd been having he most wonderful dream.

_Sansa leaning over him and untying the sash of his robe, parting it and lowering her lips to trail kisses down his chest and straight to…_

His second emotion is elation, when he realizes it hadn't been a dream.

Tyrion groans loudly, unable to hold back after having such pleasure sprung on him.

Sansa giggles and sits up, wiping the corner of her mouth delicately.

"Good morning," she smiles down.

"Indeed," he manages, still panting. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Sansa lies down next to Tyrion and wraps herself around him.

"I owed you one."

"You never owe me anything," he says, turning to look at her. "I give freely, without expectation of reciprocation."

"Fine then. I  _wanted_  to. You are extremely handsome when resting peacefully."

"As opposed to when I am awake and spewing smart ass remarks?"

"Well, I suppose when you put it  _that_  way," Sansa says, consideringly.

She doesn't get a chance to finish, though, as Tyrion turns on her and begins to mercilessly tickle her ribs.

Her squeals and flailing only encourage him further.

"Stop!" she gasps. "Stop!"

Tyrion finally gives in and relents in his torture as she struggles to catch her breath, eyes watering from her laughter.

"Your punishment for—" Tyrion begins, cut off by a pillow colliding with his face, knocking him backward.

He launches up, trying to reach her ribs again and she shrieks jumping to avoid him, swinging her feather pillow wildly. It catches on the side of the bed and  _–rip-_ feathers go flying everywhere.

The pair collapse onto the bed, stomach muscles aching from their uncontrollable laughter.

The door opens and a maid strides in, halting in her tracks and blushing as she sees them.

"Um— uh, breakfast," the she stutters, setting the tray down by the door and quickly retreating, closing the door behind her.

Sansa sits up and catches a glance of herself in the vanity mirror.

_Naked. Flushed. Completely covered with feathers._

She looks at Tyrion, a mistake, and they both burst out laughing once more.

 

~Sansa~

Later,  _much later_ , after they are finally able to control themselves, Sansa and Tyrion dress and eat a hasty breakfast.

"What's on our agenda today?" Sansa asks.

"I thought a tour would be appropriate, and I will introduce you to the staff. It's time they met the new Lady of the Rock."

"Are you sure we can't spend the day in bed?"

"Although I would love nothing more, I fear your sister would be quite furious with us… that is if she hasn't already wandered off on her own," Tyrion says, smirking.

"You're probably right," Sansa sighs, "but I feel I might be  _extremely_ over-taxed from our journey and may need to retire early tonight."

"Of course, my Lady. I don't want you to fall ill. I will make sure you are  _well_  cared for."

Sansa decides to retrieve Arya herself before setting off on the tour. She's glad she does, too, because when she walks into her sister's room, it looks as if the younger girl is trying to throw herself from the window. She's hanging halfway out of it, staring straight down.

"Arya!"

Arya jumps, and jerks away from the window.

"Seven hells! You scared me!" she accuses.

"I scared you? You were the one looking like you were going to jump," Sansa insists.

"What? No! The training pitch is down there, and if I angle just right I can see the guards practicing."

Sansa resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Well, if you come with me you can get a closer look. Tyrion is taking us on a tour."

"Excellent!"

On the way out, Sansa notices Arya's bed is still perfectly made.

"Has the maid been in already? I half suspected you'd deny her access."

"Oh, uh, no," Arya says looking away. "I slept on the floor."

"Why on earth would you do that? Is your bed that uncomfortable?"

"No… it was too comfortable. I didn't think I would wake up if a threat arose."

"Oh, Arya," Sansa says, her voice heartbroken, "there is no threat here. You are safe."

Arya doesn't respond, still refusing to meet her sister's eye.

Sansa puts an arm around her, and they set out.

Before the end of their first full day at Casterly Rock, Arya convinced Bronn to start training her, spending hours on the practice pitch, only coming in when it was too dark to see what they were doing.

"She's quite a spitfire," Bronn remarked, "has a lot of potential."

He was smitten after that, taking the little girl under his wing. They practiced almost every night, much to Tyrion's amusement and Sansa's annoyance.

Well, she was annoyed at first, but mostly because Arya refused a new wardrobe of lady-like clothing. She refused to be fitted for any silk dresses, or fur shawls for winter, demanding new trousers, tunics, and boots.

Sansa wanted to deny her, but Tyrion insisted on a compromise. He hired his own personal tailor to outfit Arya with the new clothing she wanted, but also convinced her to be fitted for at least two new gowns, for formal events.

After the delivery of Arya's new clothing, Sansa had to admit the girl looked more comfortable than she ever had before.

"She looks so happy," Sansa remarked one night, a few weeks after their arrival at the Rock.

She and Tyrion are sitting at the edge of the practice area, watching Arya and Bronn spar.

Bronn is clearly the stronger one, but Arya is so quick, darting back and forth out of reach, his strength means nothing. She bolts behind him and lands a blow to the back of Bronn's knee.

He curses and spins on her, but she's already dancing off the opposite direction, laughing as she does so.

"You both do," Tyrion says, reaching for Sansa's hand.

"I feel like each day we are away from King's Landing more burden lifts from my shoulders. Weight lifts from my chest and I can breathe a little easier."

"Time is the best medicine."

"Yes," she agrees, "but some things can't be cured."

"You miss your family."

She doesn't respond, just watches Arya laughing and making faces at a wheezing Bronn.

"I wrote the Night's Watch," Tyrion says, gaining her attention. "I told them I have a group of men for them, but I need someone to collect them. I specifically requested your brother."

Sansa's jaw drops.

"Jon is coming?  _Here?_ "

"He should be here within the month," Tyrion says, smiling at the joy on her face.

She squeals and throws herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"What's going on over there then?" Bronn calls, panting.

Sansa releases Tyrion and turns back to the sparring pair. Bronn looks ready to collapse, and Sansa decides to give him a small respite.

"Arya, you'll never guess what Tyrion's done!" Sansa calls, getting up and rushing to her sister, Tyrion following behind her at a slower pace.

She explains about Tyrion's letter, and how Jon will be with them in less than a month. Arya's mouth pops open much like Sansa's had.

Arya looks at Tyrion, and then, just as Sansa had, she pulls him into a hug, catching him completely off guard.

 

~Tyrion~

Finally gaining enough sense, Tyrion returns the girl's hug, feeling a lump in his throat.

The last few weeks, when not dealing with his duties as Lord of the Rock, Tyrion had been spending quit a bit of time with Arya. After her training sessions in the evening she would come find Tyrion and Sansa in the library.

Sansa would sit by the fire doing her needlework, and Tyrion would read to both she and Arya from the oldest tomes, spinning tales about the first dragons and their riders.

Arya would lay on the carpet by his feet, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling, losing herself in the story.

Some nights  _she_  would tell the story. Her story, of her time on the road, and Tyrion would sit beside her, his quill scratching on parchment to document it all.

She always thanked him, but it wasn't until right now that Tyrion finally realized the girl  _actually_  liked him.

Sure, she might just be happy about her brother's visit, but he feels it is more than that.

When Arya pulls away and thanks him, their eyes meet and he feels and understanding pass between them. This one is more than the begrudging acceptance she had offered him before… it's actual appreciation.

Something his own family, excluding the possibility of Jaime, would never grant him.

"I think this good news calls for some drinks," Bronn suggests.

"You are just tired, old man," Arya scoffs, turning to face him. "There will be time to celebrate when Jon actually arrives."

"Are you suggesting I would twist your happiness over one of your last remaining relatives coming to visit into something for my own selfish gain?" he asks, sounding offended.

Arya arches an eyebrow at him.

"Oi, alright then," Bronn sighs, his demeanor shifting from pious to prickly in the blink of an eye.

"My Lord!"

Tyrion and the rest all turn towards the anxious voice of a manservant rushing to them down the path from the castle.

He's waving a letter in the air as he runs.

"My Lord," he pants as he finally reaches them. "News from the capital… King Joffrey is dead! Poisoned at his own wedding feast!"

To Tyrion's right, Sansa claps a hand over her mouth, and behind him…

"So, about those drinks?" Bronn asks.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  I'm still here, promise! I haven't forgot about you guys. I've actually been think a lot about our favorite couple lately. Blah, blah, blah, real life crap, busy, busy. You've heard it all. Thanks for sticking with me! And thank you for all the lovely reviews! They come straight to my phone and keep me on my toes!


	32. Lannisport

~Sansa~

Despite the waning summer, the incoming cold front, and the shortening of the days, Sansa is positive that the world has never seemed like a brighter place than it is in the weeks following Joffrey's death.

She finds herself feeling happier, and lighter than she has in ages, knowing that the sadistic boy-king can longer torment her. Sansa understands the country is still at war, but finds it hard to worry about while she is so safely away from the battle lines.

Life at the Rock is turning into everything she's ever dreamed of.

Her days are very routine, though Sansa takes pleasure in the repetitiveness of it. After so much time spent in King's Landing never knowing what tomorrow will hold, routine is one of the greatest comforts she could have asked for.

Arya on the other hand, grows weary. She's explored every inch of the castle, sought out every nook and cranny, and now doesn't know what to do with herself. If Bronn had the time, Sansa is positive Arya would keep him training all day.

After days of asking and asking, Sansa finally gives into Arya's request, and asks Tyrion if they can go into Lannisport.

"Winter is upon us. Anything you require we can have delivered," Tyrion says.

He's sitting in his study, quill perched overtop a stack of parchment. Sansa interrupted his work on the household accounts, knowing he'll be more likely to agree quickly if he has work to return to.

"It's not about  _needing_ anything," she corrects. "It's more about getting Arya out of my hair. She really wants to see the city; she's growing bored. She's already found every hidden passage in the Rock and now doesn't know what to do with herself. Arya's not exactly a needlepoint kind of girl."

"There's no way she's found  _all_ the passageways. I bet she missed the one on the fourth floor, just behind—"

"The hidden panel in that oak wardrobe?" Sansa finishes. "She found that our first week here."

"I didn't find that until I was practically going into my seventeenth year, and  _I_ was raised here," Tyrion says, a bit indignant.

Sansa can't help but laugh at the look on his face.

She walks over behind the desk and takes a seat on the edge, leaning down towards Tyrion, cupping his cheek.

"Can you  _please_  take us down to Lannisport?" she coos, batting her lashes.

"That's not fair."

She leans in, her lips brushing his ear lobe.

"I don't play fair," Sansa insists with a nip.

"Oh, alright," Tyrion groans. "You win, we will go in the morning."

Sansa jumps up from the desk.

"Thank you! I'll go tell Arya."

If she is completely honest, Sansa must admit she's very excited to see Lannisport.

_It's the third largest city in Westeros!_

Sansa never got much of a chance to see King's Landing up close, things went south before she could be taken to explore. She's very eager to tour the shops and see all the city has to offer.

Of course, when they set out the next morning all Arya can talk about is the battle history of the area. Sansa loves her sister, but sometimes she wishes Arya would expand her cultural knowledge past the history of bloodshed.

They take ten guards with them on their journey, in addition to Bronn, who tagged along less as a guard, and more as someone eager to ditch them and find a brothel.

Sure enough, when they reach Lannisport Bronn gives a nod and promises to meet them midday in the market place before heading off on his own.

"Pace yourself!" Tyrion calls after him, chuckling until he catches sight of Sansa's disapproving stare. "Sorry," he mumbles.

She can't help but smile and shake her head.

They spend the first couple hours just taking in the sights. Tyrion leads them down to see the bustling port, pausing to talk with the fishermen and inquire about their haul this quarter.

Sansa watches on at the easy camaraderie between Tyrion and the people he talks to. He knows a lot of them by name, and they all treat him with respect. Attitude towards him is a bit different than she's used to seeing, and she guesses it's the combination of being so close to the lion's den and the fact that Tyrion treats these people better than probably any other noble.

 _He's a born leader,_  she thinks,  _and he deserves this. Their respect._

Sansa finds herself thinking of her father. The way Tyrion is interacting and showing actual interest in the locals reminds her much of the way Ned ruled the North.

"What's that look for?" he asks, as they set off towards the city center.

"I'm just… proud of you," Sansa shrugs.

"What for?"

"Back there. You were born to rule the Rock."

"Actually, Jaime was born to rule the Rock, and he will if Father has his way," Tyrion insists.

"You know what I mean. You are a natural leader."

"Such flattery," he leans in close so only Sansa can hear, "it makes me want to  _lead_  you somewhere more private… naturally."

She rolls her eyes, but gives him a playful smirk.

"I'm starving!" Arya complains loudly.

"So much for that idea," Tyrion mumbles. "Let's hit the market. There are some great vendors."

Sansa loves the market. There is so much going on, so many people bustling about, and so few pay them any attention. She feels invisible, and she loves it.

The guards trail behind them, keeping a close eye but not drawing attention to themselves.

Here, right now, Sansa is just another girl at the market. She's not the traitor's daughter, or the heir to the North, or even Lady of the Rock.

The feeling of being nobody is refreshing, invigorating really.

Tyrion, Arya, and Sansa buy grilled fish from one vendor, and wine and cheese from another. It's just as delicious as Tyrion said it would be.

After they have their fill, they wander through looking at all the different merchandise for sale in the stalls.

Arya is impatient, sighing dramatically as Sansa looks through a collection of scarves, picking one to match one of her new winter gowns.

The next stall has an array of jewelry and Sansa finds several items, including a delicate silver chain, and brooch depicting a wolf with eyes of sapphire.

When they reach a vendor selling hair bows Arya makes a sound as if she is literally dying.

"Oh would you stop," Sansa chastises.

"This is  _so_ boring!" Arya complains. "Across the way they are selling throwing knives, and I heard that a block up is the best smith in Lannisport. I could really use a new sword."

"What about Needle?"

"Oi, that blade is nice enough," Bronn says, practically materializing next to them, "but it's not the best for a real swordfight. She needs a proper blade."

Arya smiles brightly at the man and turns back to Sansa.

"See?" she implores.

"Alright, we'll go to the blacksmith.  _If—_ " Sansa says, interrupting Arya's squeal, "you let me buy you some ribbons for your hair. It's really growing out and I think these would be lovely."

Arya grumbles, but the allure of a new sword wins her over.

"Fine, but hurry up!"

Sansa smiles and selects a pair of silver ribbons, thinking they will brilliantly bring out Arya's grey eyes.

With that taken care of, Sansa resigns herself to at least an hour in a musty blacksmith hut, knowing Arya will take her time, and their party sets out.

 

~Arya~

She feels like she's going to positively burst from excitement as they approach the blacksmith's. While Sansa had been busy dawdling over silly, prissy little things, Arya had been peppering the locals for information. Everyone she talked to said this was the place to go for a blade. Some even said the swords sold here rival those of King's Landing.

When they reach the shop Arya is the first one through the door, eagerly pushing past everyone.

The walls inside are lined with display pieces and she can't decide where to start.

"I'll be with you in a moment," the smith calls over his shoulder.

He's hunched over a patch of coals, evening them out.

When he turns around, Arya gasps, and in a flash she's bolting across the room. She hits him so hard, wrapping her arms around him, he almost topples back into the coals.

"Whoa!"

Arya tilts her head back to look up and feels like her face is going to split from the smile on it.

"Gendry!" she cries happily.

"Arry? Oh my gods, what in seven heels are you doing here?"

Gendry finally returns her hug, and Arya feels herself blush.

"What is going on?" Sansa asks loudly, and Arya jumps back from Gendry.

She turns to see Sansa and Tyrion looking concerned, and two guards preparing to draw swords.

"No, no!" Arya cries. "It's alright. I know him. He's… he's my friend."

Tyrion signals the guards sheath their weapons and orders them outside, and Arya feels a flare of warmth for her brother in law.

"A friend of Arya's is a friend of ours," Tyrion says, approaching. He extends his hand to Gendry. "Tyrion Lannister, and this is my wife, Lady Sansa."

Gendry shakes Tyrion's hand and does a double take when he sees Sansa.

"My Lady," Gendry says, bowing.

Arya's not sure where the sudden spark of anger comes from, but she finds herself irritated with Sansa all of the sudden.

"How do you know my sister?" Sansa asks, wasting no time.

"We travelled together," Arya says. "He was captured and sent to Harrenhal with me, and we escaped together."

"Your sister saved my life," Gendry says.

"You've saved mine as well," she insists. "His name is Gendry."

"Ah," Tyrion says, understanding, "the infamous Gendry, I've heard a lot about you. I've been recording Arya's travels and she's mentioned you quite a lot."

Arya's cheeks heat again.

"I'd love to hear  _your_  tale," Tyrion says, "perhaps you could return with us and have dinner at Casterly Rock."

"That is mighty kind of you to offer, my Lord, but—" Arya kicks him. "I'd love to."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** There has been so much demand for Gendry in the reviews that I had to bring him in! Let me know what you think! Also, we have a beautiful new story cover, courtesy of the brilliant essentialasair! I'm going to add this in to the first chapter <3

She does some amazing Sanrion work and you should all check out her [deviant art](http://rightxhere.deviantart.com/) and [tumblr](http://essentialasair.tumblr.com/).


	33. Old Friends

~Sansa~

When they get back to the Rock Sansa excuses herself to her chambers to get ready for dinner.

She skims through her wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. She rarely dresses especially for dinner, but they haven't had a guest for dinner since they've come to the Rock. Sansa intends to take advantage of tonight's mysterious addition.

_Who cares if he's only a blacksmith? He did save Arya's life._

After having changed into one of her new dresses, a pink and gold number, Sansa sets to work on her hair.

She just sits down at her vanity when there is a frantic knocking on her door.

"Just a moment."

Sansa glides across the room and opens the door. Finding a three-headed direwolf would have been less surprising than the sight that awaits her… Arya… in a gown.

Arya groans and pushes past Sansa into the room.

"How do you do this?" she asks, turning to show her exposed back and unlaced dress.

"I—uh, I usually have my maids do it," Sansa says.

"I don't have any. Shortly after we got here I threatened to use them as target practice if they didn't leave me be."

"I'll do it."

Sansa is still stunned by seeing her sister, seemingly willingly, wearing a dress. Lacing up the back, she wonders what could have prompted this.

"There," Sansa says, finishing. "Turn around let me see."

Arya turns slowly, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground.

The gown she chose is deep blue with a silver lace trim. It is cut in a way that accentuates her rather newly blossoming figure, making her appear older than she is.

_Or perhaps it's just making me see her for the young woman she's grown into, rather than the little girl I'm holding onto._

"You look lovely," Sansa insists.

"I feel ridiculous."

"Then why did you choose it?"

"I thought, well I figured you'd want me to. Since we have company tonight," Arya says.

"Yes, well he is  _your_ friend. He was with you back when you pretending to be a boy. I doubt he'd be surprised to see you show up in trousers."

"No, he wouldn't look twice," the girl mumbles.

Suddenly everything falls into place for Sansa.

"Oh… Oh!" she exclaims. "You like him! That's why you are dressing up."

Arya gives her a deadly glare.

"It's okay," Sansa reassures. "Your secret is safe with me."

Groaning, Arya stomps across the room, towards the door.

"This was a bad idea," she says. "I look like a fool. He'll never see me as anyone other than "Arry". I'm going to change."

"No! Wait! Let me help," Sansa begs. "This is my area. Look, you can't just throw on a dress and call it good. You need your hair done as well, and you need to walk like a Lady."

"There is no hope for me then."

"Come on, we have plenty of time! Just let me try to help, and if you don't like the end result you can change back into your trousers."

Arya chews her lip, looking unsure, while Sansa bounces up and down eagerly on the balls of her feet. She's been dreaming of the day she'd get to give Arya a make over.

"Fine," Arya sighs, "but if I don't like it I'm changing."

Sansa squeals in delight and pulls her sister over to sit at the vanity.

"Hmm, I think we'll leave your hair down. I  _could_ do a braided updo, but your hair has grown out so much I think we should showcase it."

Sansa pulls back Arya's hair just enough to keep it out of her face, tying it with one of the new silver ribbons they bought today. Then she opens another parcel from their trip into Lannisport, pulling out the delicate silver necklace she bought. She fastens it around Arya's neck, and steps back to admire her sister.

"If you could give not scowling a try I think you would appreciate the effect," Sansa says, only partially joking.

 

~Arya~

Arya stares at her reflection, watching the transformation as Sansa puts some ridiculous powder concoction on her cheeks meant to make them rosy.

Never having had a high regard for her appearance, it comes as a surprise when Arya finds herself thinking she looks rather nice.

_For me, anyway. I'll never be Sansa._

She's never been jealous of her sister's looks, it's always just been the way things are… until now. Arya can't help but feel inferior when she looks at her glowing sister.

When Sansa finishes primping her, she has Arya practice walking like a Lady. Just something else to make her feel ridiculous, though it does seem to make Sansa's whole day.

Arya doesn't quite manage to go from a stalk to a glide, but she does soften her gait by the time they are called down to dinner.

Her hands are fidgeting uncontrollably when they walk into the dining hall, and when she can bring herself to stop staring at the ground she sees Tyrion, Bronn, and Gendry all standing near the table talking.

Tyrion keeps his surprise at her attire contained to a simple widening of his eyes, whereas Bronn's mouth hangs open. Arya only has eyes for Gendry though.

He's staring at her in unblinking shock.

"M—M'lady," he stammers as she approaches.

"Gendry," she greets, attempting a curtsy.

It's quite clumsy, she knows, and when they all turn to take their seats Bronn steps up beside her to say something, but Arya elbows him in the gut before he can speak.

The sleeves of her dress mask the movement and she can't help but think at least this constricting garment is good for  _something._

The table is small tonight. Sansa and Tyrion take either side claiming the heads of the table, while Arya sits next to Bronn and across from Gendry.

Sansa keeps shooting Arya looks, trying to get her to say something, but suddenly her mind is blank and she can think of nothing to say.

"So, Gendry, tell us about yourself," Tyrion requests, breaking the silence.

"S'not much to tell," Gendry shrugs, glancing briefly at Arya, "I was a blacksmith in King's Landing and decided I wanted to see more of the world. I set out with a group travelling for the Wall. That's how I met Arry… I mean Lady Arya."

"How many times do—" Arya starts, and then blushing changes to a lighter tone, "I mean, you can just call me Arya."

"Thank you, Miss," Gendry says, barely glancing her way, before continuing on with his tale.

Arya scowls into her dinner plate and stabs angrily at her food.

"That's not very ladylike," Bronn whispers, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

Arya gives him a nasty look and stabs her fork at the hand he has resting on the table.

He grunts in pain, but turns it into a cough when the other diners look at him.

"Wine went down the wrong way," he apologizes, "sorry."

Arya allows herself a little smirk, but it fades quickly when the conversation continues without Gendry so much as glancing at her again the rest of the meal.

_I was right… I must look ridiculous._

After they finish eating everyone retires to a sitting area. The men are all swapping tales of their younger days of training, while Sansa and Arya look on. Arya desperately wants to jump into the conversation, and is about to when she sees Gendry watching Sansa.  _Smiling at her._

Without a word Arya stands up and rushes from the room.

_He can't even look at me! Yet he has nothing but smiles and eyes for Sansa. Of course. Bloody perfect Sansa._

She's made it to the entrance hall when she feels a hand on her arm. It grasps her and spins her around.

It's Gendry.

"Are you alright?" he asks, leaning his head down to be closer to her level.

"Yes. Fine." Her tone is tight, words clipped.

"Are you in trouble?"

"What?" she asks, genuinely confused.

"Are you being kept here against your will?" he questions, lowering his voice.

"No! Why would you think that?"

"Well… you know," he says, letting his voice trail off. He gestures his hands up and down. "This. It's just not you."

"Of course it's me!" Arya scoffs, indignant. "This is how ladies dress. I'm a  _girl_!"

"Well, yeah, but not like a real girl. Sorry, I mean, not a  _girl_ girl."

Arya's shoulders slump and there is this weird pain in her chest.

"You'll only ever see me as one of the boys, won't you?" she asks, heartbroken.

_That's it. That's the pain._

"Arya, I  _never_  saw you as one of the boys. Even when you were still pretending to be one."

A flicker. A tiny flicker of hope sparks inside her.

"What did you see me as?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper as she stares up into his eyes.

_Please don't say little sister, please don't say little sister, please don't..._

Gendry opens his mouth to speak, but a deafening crash echoes through the entrance hall as the front door bursts open.

"Where are they? I demand to see my sisters at once!"

All thoughts of Gendry fall away as Arya turns towards the loud intruder.

"Jon?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know the updates aren't as fast as they have been in the past, but I am currently working on the sequel to my original novel  _The Patriot Guard._  I hope you're all still with me!

On another note, I am taking some liberties with Arya's and Sansa's ages (let's be honest though this whole story would be a little weird if I left Sansa fourteen). So, let's say Sansa is somewhere around 18/19 and Arya is around 15/16. (Yes I do know they have a bigger age difference than that, but hey, it's called fan fiction lol)

Also, I made a (poorly photoshopped) picture of Arya for this chapter:


	34. Family Reunion

~ Arya ~

In a whirlwind of blue velvet and silver lace, Arya races across the entrance hall and all but launches herself at her brother, almost knocking him off of his feet.

"Jon!" she exclaims, burying her face into his chest.

"Arya?"

Jon looks down at her briefly before wrapping her into a bone-crunching hug.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she says, voice cracking as she cranes her neck to look up at him.

"Are you okay?" he asks, pushing her to arms length to look over her. "What are wearing? What have they done to you?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Is it really so hard for everyone to believe I would choose to wear this on my own?" she questions.

"Yes," Jon says, his answer echoing as Gendry replies at the same time from behind her.

"What is all the commotion out here?"

Arya twists to see Sansa standing in the doorway on the other side of the hall.

"Jon? Jon!"

Sansa, much in the same fashion as Arya races across the entrance hall and throws herself at Jon.

"Sansa," Jon murmurs, returning her hug, sounding a bit confused.

Things between the pair had always been a bit cool, Sansa having taken her cues from Catelyn, and Jon seems perplexed by his warm welcome.

"Welcome to the Rock."

This time it is Tyrion standing in the doorway, watching his wife hang from her half brother.

Jon disengages Sansa's arms from his neck and ushers both her and Arya behind him before pulling his sword.

"I'm taking them from this place tonight," Jon says loudly. "Whatever is going on here is over, and I'll not let my sisters be subjected to whatever game you are playing."

"Jon," Sansa starts, placing a hand on his arm, but he shrugs it off.

"It's okay, Sansa. I won't let him hurt you again."

Arya looks up in time to see her sister roll her eyes.

 

~ Sansa ~

"Jon, Tyrion has not hurt me, and I'm not going anywhere," Sansa says firmly, stepping around her brother.

"You don't have to lie for him, I'm here now."

"I'm not lying! Tyrion has never hurt me, in fact he's done everything he can to protect me."

Hearing footsteps Sansa glances over her shoulder to see her husband slowly approaching. She reaches out for his hand when he stops next to her.

"Perhaps you would like to speak with your sisters privately," Tyrion suggests, looking up at Jon. "Before you make any final decisions. You may use my study."

Jon looks ready to protest, but Arya taking him by the arm and nodding seems to do the trick. Jon sighs and sheaths his weapon.

"Lead the way," he tells Sansa.

Tyrion walks with them, but true to his word leaves them alone to talk.

"I'll be down the hall having a drink with our new friend Gendry if you need me," he says, and Sansa leans down to give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

"Thank you," she smiles.

When she stands up Jon has his nose curled and is looking to Arya, who just has a sort of grimace on her face that says 'they do this all the time.'

As soon as the door closes Jon is at Sansa's side.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"He's gone, you can tell me the truth."

"I promise I  _am_ telling the truth. Jon, I am fine, and so is Arya. We are perfectly happy and safe here. Well… I know  _I'm_  happy. You'll have to ask Arya for yourself," Sansa insists.

"Arya?" Jon asks, turning to his younger sister.

"I'm happy too," she says simply.

"How is that possible? You are in the heart of the Lannister domain. You know, the people responsible for murdering our family?"

Sansa is about to protest, but Arya beats her to it.

"Tyrion isn't like that! It wasn't  _his_ fault," she says heatedly. "You of all people should know better than to judge someone over the family they are born into."

"He's taking good care of us," Sansa adds. "And he had nothing to do with what happened to our family. That lies solely with Cersei, Tywin, and the dead King. Tyrion has done nothing but protect me from the rest of his family."

Jon scowls and plops down into a plump overstuffed chair.

"You do know that just because he protects you, it doesn't mean you owe him anything? You don't have to… he can't… has he made you—?" Jon fumbles.

Sansa blushes, and Arya stifles a groan before pretending to be extremely interested on the books on the wall.

"No, he hasn't," Sansa says. "In fact, on our wedding night he swore to me he would never share my bed until I asked him to. He's been the perfect gentlemen."

"Really? Well, then there you go! You can still get out of this marriage if you haven't—"

"I asked him to."

Jon's face scrunches, and he tilts his head to the side, as if he can't quite grasp her words.

"Why?" he finally asks.

"Because he's my husband, and I love him."

"You… love him?"

"More than I ever imagined possible."

Arya stops studying the books and perches on the arm of Jon's chair.

"It's true," she says simply. "She does, I've seen it. He loves her too. Tyrion would do anything for her."

Jon stands up and shakes his head.

"Okay, so she's convinced she's in love," he says, pointing to Sansa. "She's been prisoner, and possibly brainwashed, but what about you? What's your excuse for staying? You hate Lannisters almost more than anyone. You hated them from the moment they showed up in Winterfell, before they'd even done anything to us."

"Oh, I still hate Lannisters," Arya says, "but Tyrion is different. I… really like him. He's good to Sansa, and he's good to me too."

Arya tells Jon all about her training with Bronn, how Tyrion convinced Sansa to let her get trousers instead of gowns for her new wardrobe, how they spend evenings reading together and recording Arya's travels.

"Why are you in a dress now, then?" Jon asks.

"We had a guest for dinner," Arya says blushing. "I thought this would be more appropriate."

There is a knock on the door and almost on cue Tyrion pokes his head in.

"Is everything going alright in here?"

"I think so," Sansa tells him.

Tyrion opens the door the rest of the way and walks in to stand beside his wife. Jon flexes his fingers on the grip of his sword, and Arya moves to stand on Tyrion's other side.

"Honestly, Jon, we're happy here."

"I promise you, Jon Snow, I would never do anything to hurt your sisters," Tyrion says. "In fact, I would do anything to protect them."

Jon's hand falls away from his weapon and he gives a resigned sigh looking back and forth between the three people standing in front of him.

"Okay," he says, offering his hand to Tyrion. "Thank you for taking care of my family when I couldn't."

Sansa beams brightly as she watches them shake hands.

"We have so much to catch up on!" She exclaims.

"We certainly do," Jon says. "I had heard Arya escaped King's Landing, how did she come to be here?"

"That's quite a long story," Arya sighs.

"Indeed," Sansa adds, shuddering as she thinks of her time with Lord Baelish. "Where's Gendry? This seems like a conversation he can definitely add to."

"He's in the dining room," Tyrion says. "Why don't we join him for some wine, and maybe some dessert?"

 

~ Jon ~

It doesn't take long in their company for Jon to see that Tyrion and Sansa truly do care for each other. He has to admit it surprises him. Not just because Tyrion is a Lannister, but also because Jon knows how much falling in love with a handsome knight meant to the Sansa he grew up with.

The way she watches her husband with a sly smile on her face, and the twinkle in her eye, shows Jon just how much she has grown. Not to mention how much she's seemed to warm up to  _him_. They were never close before, but now she is treating him like she used to treat Robb.

_We're all each other have left,_  he thinks, looking between his two sisters sadly.

The hours slip away faster than they should as they all share their stories, and both terrible and wonderful moments about their journeys.

Jon is surprised to find himself bonding even more with Sansa when as they discuss how they each killed a White Walker. He's astounded by her bravery, and finds a new respect for her growing when he learns just everything she endured in King's Landing and how she was able to play the game and overcome her trials.

"You're so different," he says, and then looking to Arya adds, "both of you."

"We've had to be," Sansa says. "So have you."

Arya nods with a giant yawn.

"I think it is time to call it a night," Tyrion insists. "Jon, we'll get you set up with a room, and Gendry, I insist you stay as well."

"Oh, I don't— Ow! Yeah thanks," Gendry says after a not so subtle kick from Arya.

Jon hugs his sisters goodnight but hangs back as the room clears, until it is just he and Tyrion.

"Is this where you threaten me and make me swear to uphold your sisters' honor?" Tyrion asks, only half joking.

"This is where I thank you again for protecting my family when I couldn't."

Tyrion nods, a sad smile on his face.

"It was my pleasure, truly."

* * *

**Author's Note:** We are almost at the end of our journey. Just two more chapters left, including the epilogue! I'll be posting both of those at the same time. If you have any requests of things you would like to see happen, or tied up, let me know and I will see if I can work it in. As always, reviews are very much appreciated! Thank you!


	35. New Beginnings

~ Arya ~

She knows what she is doing is highly inappropriate, and something a lady would never do, but despite her clothing at dinner, something she has since discarded for a tunic and trousers, Arya is not a lady.

She reminds herself this as she raises a wavering hand to knock on Gendry's door.

The door opens a sliver and soft light spills into the dark hallway.

"Hello?" Gendry questions, voice quiet.

"Don't just leave me out here," she says.

"Arya?"

He opens the door wider and she pushes her way into the room.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"We didn't get to finish our conversation earlier. The one Jon interrupted."

"Oh… that."

Gendry is looking around uncomfortably, his hand rubbing the back of his head as he keeps his gaze on anything that isn't Arya.

"Why can't you look at me?" she demands, stomping her foot.

"I just— It's that— I like it."

"You like looking at me… so you won't do it? That makes no sense. Honestly I thought Hot Pie was the dumb one," she says rolling her eyes.

"I like it  _too_ much," he clarifies.

Her heart speeds a little, but her mouth runs away, as usual.

"What does that even mean? How can you like looking at someone too much?"

"You are a lady. A lady of Winterfell. I am a bastard who has no right to be thinking— thinking the things I am thinking."

Gendry paces across the room, trying to distance himself from Arya.

She follows him.

"Does that mean that you…?" she asks, unable to bring herself to say the words.

"Does it matter if I do?"

"It does to me."

"Why?" he wonders.

"Because  _I_ do."

Arya can just picture if Sansa were here, she'd probably shake the both of them and demand that somebody just say  _it_.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from her lungs as she stands there waiting for him to either strike the fatal blow or breathe life back into her.

Gendry finally looks at her, his face so soft and expression vulnerable.

"It could never work," he says, and she feels herself slipping into a downward spiral. "We're too different."

"We are not that different. You know me better than almost anyone."

"Our statuses are too different."

Arya groans and throws her arms up in the air.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asks. "Have you missed what has been going on? My status means nothing anymore! My family is dead. The only person whose status matters is Sansa! Her children will inherit Winterfell. I have nothing! I am nothing!"

His face is pained, and she knows he's fighting an internal battle between what he wants and what he feels obligated to do.

"You are everything," he finally says, meeting her gaze.

"Does that mean that you…?"

"Oh shut up."

"Don't tell me to—" her complaint is silenced when Gendry's hands come up to cup her face.

It's as if time slows and Arya watches his descent in slow motion as he leans down to press his lips to hers.

The kiss is soft and unsure, but it sends Arya flying.

He's wearing a satisfied, but sheepish, smirk when he pulls away.

"M'lady," he whispers, laughter in his voice.

Arya gives him a sarcastic smile before promptly stomping on his foot.

~ Sansa ~

"I can't believe the way things have worked out," Sansa says, falling backwards onto her bed. "To think that both Arya and Jon are under the same roof as me once more. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm very happy for you," Tyrion insists, climbing up next to her.

"We should celebrate," she says.

"Throw a party?"

"Maybe," she shrugs, "but I really meant a different sort of celebration. Maybe one a little more  _gratifying_."

"Oh I do love it when you get that mischievous twinkle in your eye," he says, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

Sansa giggles and peppers his face with kisses. They start out light and playful, decorating his forehead, eyelids, and cheeks, but when she grazes the corner of his mouth he turns to capture her lips.

His tongue insistent and searching, and she is more than willing to part her lips and accommodate him. He nips her lower lip and she can't suppress her moan.

Sansa breaks away and pulls her nightgown over her head, tossing it aside in a heap, then helps Tyrion speed up the removal of his clothing.

He stands on the bed and she perches on her knees as he pulls her into an embrace. Nothing in the world feels better to Sansa than the skin on skin contact as their bodies rub together.

_Okay,_ she thinks,  _maybe there are a couple things that feel better… though those do include skin on skin as well._

Tyrion is kissing her collarbone and she lets her eyes drift close and head fall back.

His hand caresses along her thigh and her hips buck begging him not to tease.

He chuckles as his finger teases her entrance, slowly tracing and taunting. Sansa growls and her hand darts between them to grasp his member. She can't help but smirk at his groan as she begins to stroke him.

Tyrion reciprocates and his finger slips between her folds.

Like a master musician, his fingers know exactly how to move to make her sing and Sansa finds herself on the edge. Unconsciously she lets go of his hardness, her hand grasping onto his shoulder for support as waves of pleasure crash down upon her.

When she comes down, Sansa finds herself in even more of desperate need for her husband than she was before.

She attacks his lips with a ferocity that surprises both of them.

"I need you," she moans into his mouth.

Turning away from him she drops forward onto all fours. When Tyrion doesn't make any moves Sansa looks back at him over her shoulder.

"Now," she begs.

Needing no more encouragement Tyrion firmly grasps her hips and lines himself up. As soon as she feels him at her entrance, Sansa is rocking backwards to meet him.

His movements start out so tortuously slow that she can't take it and soon she is meeting him thrust for thrust, egging him on. His grip on her hips tightens and she can feel his fingers biting into her flesh. She knows it will leave a mark, but it doesn't matter

Feeling herself coming undone, she cries out his name.

"Tyrion!"

He grunts and thrusts once more before she feels his seed filling her; the warm spurts send her over and she shudders in pleasure.

They collapse on the bed in a sweaty heap, reaching out for one another until they are cuddled, panting, on top of their blankets.

"That... was different," Tyrion says, trying to catch his breath.

She's about to tell him how she always seems to need him even more around the time of her flower blooming, but realization hits her and she sits straight up in bed.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

She counts backwards in her mind.

"Sansa? What is it?"

He sounds worried now.

"Oh," she says, quietly, still in disbelief. "Oh!"

"What?" Tyrion demands, sitting up beside her.

She turns to look at him, her eyes wide but a slow smile spreading across her face.

"I'm pregnant," she says simply.

Tyrion blinks rapidly, as if trying to comprehend the words she is using.

"Are— Are you—?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I haven't bled in almost two and a half months. I just didn't realize it because, well, things have been a bit hectic."

He's quiet for a long time, and Sansa cocks her head to the side and arches an eyebrow.

"Um… I don't— I don't know what to say."

"You're happy, though, aren't you?" she asks, suddenly concerned. "You do want children with me? I mean I know we never really talked about it, but I just thought you would be happy."

Rejection smacks her hard and she climbs out of bed, reaching for her robe.

"No, no, I am happy," Tyrion insists, hurrying off the bed after her. "If I have children I want them to be yours. I'm just… Sansa, what if they are like me?"

When she turns to face him, the expression he's wearing breaks her heart.

"Then we will love them, and make sure they know that they will always be perfect to us," she says, kneeling to cup his cheek.

"I'm scared for you, though. I killed my mother. What if something goes wrong, and I lose you."

"Tyrion Lannister a baby has no control over anything when it comes into this world. You were not to blame for what happened to your mother, and if anything happens to me this baby will not be to blame either."

"I don't think I could live without you, Sansa. You make my life worth living."

"The odds of something happening are very low. Can we just be happy for right now? Let's worry later. Drop all of your worries and focus on one thing. We are having a baby."

He still looks strained, something she suspects probably won't go away until after she's given birth, but he does at last offer her a smile.

"We're having a baby," he says, and then sounding awestruck adds, "I'm going to be a  _father_."

"You will be an amazing father."

Sansa offers him her hand, and then leads him back to bed. They curl up together and start making plans. Picking names, and wondering who's hair and eye color the baby will have.

They lay awake for hours talking, until they finally drift off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

When they are roused for breakfast, Sansa is absolutely exhausted and on the verge of sending the maid who woke them away, until she remembers she has a family breakfast to look forward to.

This perks her up and leads to bouncy, if a bit baggy eyed, Sansa pestering a grouchy Tyrion awake.

When they make it down to the dining room, Arya, Jon, and Gendry are already there. Arya and Gendry both look as tired as Sansa feels, and she makes a mental note of this. Jon seems to be the only one who got a decent night's sleep.

Bronn wanders in ten minutes late, looking extremely hung over.

The meal starts off with sad news, as Jon explains he received an urgent raven recalling him to the Wall. Apparently there is some sort of trouble that they need his help with.

"Do you really have to go so soon?" Arya asks. "You just got here! I was really looking forward to beating you on the training pitch."

"I should leave now, but with everything we've been through I don't know if I can tear myself away," Jon says, with a sad smile. "I suppose one more day won't make that much difference, but I must leave tomorrow morning."

"I need to be going soon as well," Gendry adds apologetically, looking to Arya. "I'm needed back at work."

Sansa has to blink back tears thinking about Jon leaving already, and gives Tyrion a very pointed look.

" _Now?"_ he mouths, and she nods.

"Well," Tyrion begins, "I guess this is a good of time as any…"

He glances at Sansa once more and she inclines her head towards Gendry in a not very subtle manner.

"The first subject I'd like to approach," he says. "Gendry, I have seen your brilliant work with a forge, and I would like to offer you a position here, at the Rock, as our resident blacksmith."

Arya gasps and grabs Gendry's arm, shaking it. He seems almost too stunned to answer.

"I—That would—thank you! I would be honored," Gendry answers, glancing at Arya and then quickly away.

"Excellent!" Tyrion smiles. "Now, in other news—"

"I'm pregnant!" Sansa bursts, unable to contain herself.

Looking around the table she sees Jon and Arya staring at her with their mouths hanging open, Gendry looking extremely uncomfortable, and Bronn looking oddly smug.

"Bout time," says the sellsword. "I was starting to think you didn't have in you," he adds nodding at Tyrion.

"Um, congratulations," Gendry offers.

"You are going to be great parents," Arya finally manages, closing her mouth.

Jon doesn't speak. He stands up from the table and Sansa's heart sinks, wondering if telling him was too much too fast, but he surprises her.

Walking over to where she's sitting, Jon pulls Sansa out of her chair and into a tight hug.

"Your parents would be so proud of the woman you've become," he whispers into her ear.

Eyes stinging, Sansa holds Jon tighter.

" _Our_ father would be proud of you, Jon. I know I am."

"Alright, alright," Bronn groans. "It's too early, and I'm too sober for all this emotion. Who's up for a swordfight?"

Laughter breaks all the emotional tension, and before they know it everyone is headed down to the training pitch.

It's the best day in Sansa's recent memory. There is so much laughter, and easy camaraderie… and an overall sense of family.

When she climbs into bed that night, curling up to the love of her life, she can't help but smile. Thinking about her family, about Arya actually managing to defeat Jon during one of their spars, and thinking about the life growing inside of her.

"Are you alright?" Tyrion asks.

"Yes," she smiles, "I'm just fine."


	36. Epilogue

Six months after the reunion with Jon, Sansa goes into labor. It's a long, tiring process that tests the limits of Tyrion's sanity. At one point the midwives even banish him from the birthing room because his nervous pacing keeps placing him in the way.

When it comes time for Sansa to push, though, he is right there beside her, holding her hand and biting his tongue; praying to any deity that will listen to let her and the child be okay.

Imagine his surprise when his prayers are triply answered. Sansa is just fine… and so are the twins.

"Twins," he whispers, awestruck by the perfect little creatures being bundled by the midwives. "They're beautiful. They're… normal."

"They're just like you," Sansa says, and she sees the look of fear cross his face as he double checks for signs of dwarfism. "They're perfect."

Tyrion sighs and takes her hand.

"That, my Lady, comes from their mother."

The midwives bring the little bundles over, handing the boy to Sansa, and the girl to Tyrion.

"Hello, my sweets," Sansa coos. "My little Eddard, and Joanna."

Tyrion can't take his eyes off of the beautiful little girl in his arms, named for his mother. She has thick hair, curly like his, but flaming red like her mother's.

Eddard on the other hand, looks how Tyrion imagines Jaime looked as an infant, a head of straight blond locks.

"Thank you," Tyrion tells Sansa, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "This is the best gift I have ever received."

X

Two months after the twins are born, and completely turn their lives upside down, Tyrion and Sansa find their world flipped once more with another surprise arrival.

One morning they receive word of having two new visitors, and when they go down to meet them, Sansa's heart almost falls from her chest.

It's some woman named Osha, and Rickon.

After disbelief and some tears, Osha explains how she got the boys out of Winterfell before it burned, and how she met Jon at the wall and he sent her here.

Rickon has no problem fitting into the family at the Rock, and Osha is offered quarters as well. Not that they would turn her away, but Rickon insisted she stay, and Sansa feels he's come to view the woman as some sort of mother figure.

X

Another year passes and the winter grows brutal, storms raining down unrelenting. Walkers are marching upon the wall and the Night's Watch is far outnumbered. Stannis Baratheon sends men, but even with his help things are not looking good.

That is until Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and of the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons rides in on a dragon to save the day.

She leads an army of eight thousand Unsullied, and three dragons. All she needs is the dragons.

Daenerys and her dragons wipe out the army of White Walkers in three days flat. Then, once their victory is assured, they head for King's Landing to take back her throne.

Cersei and Tywin refuse to see reason, but Jaime is not so blind. Rumor has it that when word reached King's Landing of Daenerys' imminent arrival, Jaime fled. Taking Tommen, and Brienne of Tarth with him, much to Cersei's displeasure.

Daenerys conquers King's Landing in less time than it took to defeat the walkers.

Tywin and Cersei do not survive the take over.

Word of her kindness, strength, and victory over the walkers spreads throughout the seven kingdoms and almost everyone swears fealty without hesitation.

Sansa is worried what will become of them, but it turns out her fears are unjust.

Varys, who has quite a firm hold on the new Queen's ear, convinces her that Tyrion is the best of his family and wants only the best for the country, as she does. Daenerys decides to let him keep the Rock, the Lannister's vast fortune, and allows Sansa and Rickon to keep their claim on the North.

X

Despite predications, the winter is one the shortest in living memory and summer dawns just six months after the new Queen takes her throne.

At the Rock summer is welcomed in ceremony; a wedding ceremony.

Arya and Gendry swap their vows by the seaside, both refusing to be married in a Sept.

Wanting to keep the tradition of being married in a dress, yet remain true to herself, Arya wears a simple dress that only falls past her knees, and she refuses to wear shoes. Gendry looks at her as if she were a princess draped in silks and jewels.

After the ceremony the two set off, heading for Winterfell. Sansa has tasked them with overseeing the rebuilding of their home.

Sansa and Tyrion stand in the courtyard of the Rock and watch them ride away.

"Are you okay?" he asks, squeezing her hand.

"Yes," she sighs. "It's just… I never thought I could bear being parted with her again."

"She'll be okay, she's the best swordsman in the land these days."

"Oh, I know she'll be okay," Sansa smiles sadly, "These are peaceful days now. It just feels like something is ending."

To her left she hears the twins laughing and Sansa looks to see them chasing after and tackling Bronn.

"Things always end," Tyrion reassures her, "but there are always new beginnings."

His other hand comes up to rest on Sansa's swollen belly, rubbing gentle circles.

Sansa bends down to kiss her husband, enjoying the sweet familiar taste of his lips.

"This is supposed to be the longest summer yet," she tells him.

"And what a summer it will be."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  I don't know where to begin... I just want to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story, reviewed, followed, or favorited it. I know I wasn't always the best with keeping up to date on updates, and so I really appreciate you all the more. Thank you so very much, I just hope the ending lived up to your expectations.


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